


our bodies safe to shore

by bonfire



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dubious Consent, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonfire/pseuds/bonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And anyway, friends they might be, but Grantaire isn’t ready to trust them. He’s not going to start just because they’re showing concern.</p>
<p>Absolutely not.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or: a modern AU wherein Grantaire, Marius, and Eponine are prostitutes, and it's all uphill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Potential Triggers:  
> discussion of sex work as necessity, mentions of abuse, and a scene of nonconsensual sex in a later chapter. I will warn accordingly.

Enjolras doesn’t even notice him at first.

He’s in the café for twenty minutes, reading the newspaper at a table tucked in the corner, when Courfeyrac and Combeferre finally arrive. Combeferre goes to the counter to order for them—one chai, one latte, and one coffee, black—and Courfeyrac starts toward Enjolras when he spots the man working behind the counter.

“Hello!” Courfeyrac says cheerfully, veering away from Enjolras’s table and moving to stand beside Combeferre. Enjolras looks up from his paper. “Are you new, then?” He turns to their regular barista. “Chetta, who’s your friend?” He fakes being wounded, gasps. “Does this mean you’re leaving us? Surely not!”

Musichetta smiles warmly at Courfeyrac’s theatrics, accustomed to the typical behavior, as she goes about making their drinks with a practiced hand. “Thought I could use an extra pair of hands around here,” she says. “Can’t get rid of me so easily.”

“I’m Grantaire,” the newbie says.

“Courfeyrac.” He points to himself. “And this is Combeferre. The anti-social one in the corner there is Enjolras.” Enjolras has, indeed, gone back to reading his newspaper, and doesn’t acknowledge the mention of his name, nor the rather hopeful glance Grantaire gives him.

“We’re regulars,” Combeferre adds. “There’s a whole group of us, actually. And we like to get to know the people who work here.” He pauses, thinking. “Actually, aside from that kid who worked here, what, a month? It’s pretty much just been Chetta.”

“Well, Grantaire’s long term,” Musichetta says. “Right, honey?”

“That’s the plan.” Grantaire grins. “Until you get sick of me.”

“He’s a good one,” Musichetta tells them knowingly. “I can tell. He’ll stick.”

Joly and Bossuet enter then, quickly making their way to the counter, and Courfeyrac and Combeferre take their drinks over to Enjolras’s table. Jehan enters a few minutes later, and Enjolras finally sets his paper aside and sips at his coffee. He doesn’t spare Grantaire a single glance, and eventually Bahorel and Feuilly arrive and everyone settles, allowing the meeting to start.

“You can take five if you want,” Musichetta tells Grantaire. “They’re usually the only ones around this time. Once they get going there isn’t much left for us to do.” She follows his gaze, watching Enjolras apparently discussing an article from his newspaper, waving it around angrily. “Unless you want to listen?” she asks Grantaire.

He goes out for a smoke.

[To R: how’s the new job?]  
[To Eponine: easy. think ill have enough $ in 3-4 months.]

[To R: b careful 2nite i think he knos bout ur new job]  
[To Puppy: thanks.]  
[To Puppy: when are you going to give up the chat speak?]  
[To R: wen r u going 2 change my name in ur contacts]  
[To Puppy: no deal.]

 

Grantaire gets used to the group quickly.

They come together twice a week in the odd evening hours when most people are having dinner, earning a typically empty café. Sometimes he’ll see them during busier hours, in smaller groups of two or three. Joly and Bossuet come in the most often, and Bahorel and Courfeyrac talk with him the most. Enjolras alone remains a mystery to him.

Enjolras rarely acknowledges him, and is the only one who hasn’t formally introduced himself. Enjolras is always the first to arrive, but rarely orders for himself—usually it is Combeferre who orders Enjolras’s drink—and he leaves last, always.

Grantaire finds Enjolras fascinating—intelligent, attractive, but seemingly cold— but he makes no attempt to talk to him. He keeps his distance, from all of them, as much as he can. He falls into a routine.

After a couple of months of working at the café, Musichetta gives him a longer leash while giving herself some free time; he begins to work some shifts solo.

Tonight he’s working the evening shift alone and he can’t help but glance at the clock every five minutes; it’s one of the nights when the group—the Amis, he reminds himself, having been informed of the name only a few days earlier—is meant to come in.

He often finds himself looking forward to these meetings, not because he’s interested—he rarely listens to what they talk about—but because he’s begun to realize that he genuinely enjoys the company. The Amis, for the most part, are friendly and interesting to talk to. And Enjolras, although not much for conversation, is at least nice to look at; aside from his pretty face, Grantaire finds his energy captivating. Enjolras always speaks passionately, waving his arms around and often standing up suddenly as he makes a point, and Grantaire watches, enthralled.

Tonight, however, Grantaire is anxiously checking the clock not because he can’t wait for the Amis to arrive, but because he’s dreading their arrival.

“I should’ve called in sick,” he mutters for what must be the tenth time, before reminding himself that he needs the money. “Suck it up,” he says to himself, and then laughs. “And stop talking to yourself aloud. It’s weird.”

Not long after, Enjolras arrives. He makes his way to his table in the corner, half-glancing at Grantaire before stopping in his tracks. Grantaire watches out of the corner of his eye, pretending to adjust one of the machines. Enjolras is studying him with a frown, looking something between annoyed and concerned. He seems to be debating internally, before he sighs and goes to the counter.

“Um,” Enjolras announces himself, looking rather awkward. “Are you—“ He grimaces. “Are you all right?”

Grantaire looks at him as though he doesn’t know what Enjolras means. Enjolras sighs again.

“You’ve got a black eye,” Enjolras says, gesturing to Grantaire’s face. “I just thought—well, I just wanted to be sure you’re all right?”

Grantaire makes a face like he’d genuinely forgotten about his eye. “Oh, that,” he laughs. “Nah, it’s nothing. Got into a tussle, y’know how it is. Nothing, really. Uh, thanks, though.” He laughs again, awkward and forced. “Um. D’you want your coffee, then?”

Enjolras eyes him suspiciously. “Sure.” He doesn’t leave the counter, but continues watching Grantaire. Grantaire pretends he doesn’t notice and takes his time getting Enjolras’s drink. As he slides it across the counter, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Jehan enter, and Grantaire groans inwardly.

“Whoa,” Courfeyrac says immediately, loudly. He rushes to the counter, eyes wide. “Solid shiner. What happened?”

“A tussle, he says,” Enjolras answers wryly. He’s still watching Grantaire carefully. “If you want us to drop it you’d best tell us the truth.”

Grantaire hesitates. “What do you care?” His eyes never leave Enjolras. By now he can call Courfeyrac a friend, and he’s fond enough of Combeferre and Jehan that he might call them friends as well. But Enjolras has never spoken to him for this long, has never shown any interest in him.

And anyway, friends they might be, but Grantaire isn’t ready to trust them. He’s not going to start just because they’re showing concern.

Absolutely not.

Enjolras sighs. “Look, if you’re being abused—I have some people who I can put you in contact with, they can help you out—“ He stops as Grantaire laughs humorlessly.

“I’m not being abused,” Grantaire says, just as Feuilly and Bahorel enter. They freeze as what Grantaire says registers, and immediately join the group at the counter.

“Who do I need to hit, huh?” Bahorel asks, taking in Grantaire’s face. Grantaire feels touched for a moment.

“No one,” he says. Joly and Bossuet come in, joining the group quietly with matching looks of concern. “All right, the truth then.” He nods at Enjolras. “I walked in on my friend getting slapped around by her boyfriend. All right? I stepped in, stopped it, took a hit. But it’s fine now. So.” He looks around at the Amis, his gaze falling on each in turn. “I’ll make your drinks, yeah?”

There’s a beat of silence before Enjolras relaxes a little, seeming to accept Grantaire’s story. “All right, then,” he says, and that’s that. He takes his coffee and goes to his table in the corner, and Grantaire sets about making drinks, and one by one the Amis reluctantly sit by Enjolras. Only Combeferre remains by the counter.

“That’s the truth,” Grantaire says finally in a low voice. “Honestly. I was helping out a friend, that’s all.” And it’s true. He still seethes a little, remembering the way Eponine’s head had snapped back, her eyes watering from the sting of the blow. He couldn’t do anything except stand between them and wait for Montparnasse to calm down, but he’d done it without hesitating.

Combeferre studies him carefully. Often Grantaire feels that Combeferre can see right through people, can pick out their thoughts like underlined passages in a book, and this moment is no different. He tries not to squirm. “I just hope it doesn’t happen again,” Combeferre says. “Whatever ‘it’ is.” He turns to head toward the group, and hesitates. “Grantaire,” he says carefully. He speaks softly. “You are a friend to us now, and I hope you realize that—that any problems you might be having? Aren’t problems you need to go through alone. Just—if you need anything, we will help in any way we can.”

Grantaire’s brows furrow automatically. Combeferre is being sincere, and Grantaire doesn’t know what to do with such honesty.

“Thank you,” he says finally. Combeferre nods and goes to sit with the Amis. Grantaire watches them all for a while. Occasionally Combeferre or Jehan will glance back at him, smiling reassuringly. Enjolras has gone back to ignoring him, it seems.

After a few minutes, Grantaire goes outside to smoke. His hand shakes a little when he lights his cigarette.

[To R: can you buy some of that tea marius likes? hes upset]  
[To Eponine: sure. what’s up?]  
[To R: he has to work w that alex guy tonight. you remember him]  
[To R: DON’T talk to montparnasse about it, hes still mad at you]  
[To R: better bring some whiskey as well]

 

It’s so late that it’s almost early when Marius comes home.

Eponine jumps up to put the kettle on as Marius drops beside Grantaire at the kitchen table, wincing almost imperceptibly. Grantaire slides the bottle of whiskey toward him; it’s still three-quarters full, which is proof enough of just how much they love him.

“So?” Grantaire asks. Marius gulps some whiskey straight out of the bottle, ignoring the glass Grantaire had set out.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Marius says, gasping slightly at the burn of the drink. He grabs the glass, pours some whiskey, and slides the bottle back to Grantaire, who refills his own glass. “Not with him. I—“ He looks at Grantaire helplessly. “What am I supposed to do?”

Grantaire thinks for a moment, sipping at his drink. “Well. If Montparnasse thinks this guy is leaving you unable to work…” He glances at Marius, a bit apologetically. “I don’t know, kid. If it’s so bad that you can’t do other jobs, maybe—maybe—he’ll consider it, but even then…”

“Won’t do.” Marius sighs, resigned. “Alex pays double, apparently. He’d have to land me in the hospital for Montparnasse to care.” He finishes off his glass just as Eponine sets a mug of tea in front of him. “Thanks, E.”

Eponine takes a seat across from him. “I’m really sorry, Marius.” She’d just come back from work as well, but it’d been with her favorite customer. All of her customers were pretty decent, and she counted herself lucky.

Marius leans heavily against Grantaire as Eponine pours some whiskey into his tea. He smiles his thanks. “I suppose it’ll be all right. Alex isn’t a frequent customer. I’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Our lot in life,” Eponine says. She pours herself a glass and downs it in one. Grantaire throws an arm around Marius.

“I found a place,” Grantaire tells them, and Eponine’s eyes widen dramatically. “It’s small. Like, really small. Crap. But I can afford it.” He can’t stop the small smile that plays on his face. “God, this is weird. Being able to afford things?” He laughs, with only a hint of bitterness.

“So the café gig’s really working out,” Eponine says. “Damn, Taire. I’m proud of you.”

“When are you moving?” Marius asks.

“Aiming for next week. I’d like to go sooner but I figured I’d wait for Montparnasse to cool down. Still pissed at me and all.” Grantaire shrugs. “Not that I’m planning on him finding out, but y’know, just in case.”

Marius nods. “All right. Just tell me when, I’ll be there.” Grantaire squeezes his shoulder in appreciation.

“I can keep Montparnasse busy that day, if you want,” Eponine offers. Grantaire shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says firmly.

They sit in silence for a while. As Marius drinks he becomes heavier and heavier against Grantaire. Grantaire doesn’t mind, though. It’s Marius, after all, and anyway after the job he’s just had, Grantaire isn’t about to say no to Marius. Eponine’s eyelids droop a bit and her gaze keeps falling on Marius. Grantaire knows she’s watching for another breakdown. She’d been alone with him after his first time with Alex, and only she had seen the state he was in. She’d cried to Grantaire afterwards; it’s still only one of two times he’s seen her cry.

Grantaire is beginning to think Marius has fallen asleep when he speaks up.

“Filled out another application today,” he mumbles. “Restaurant. Bussing.” He sighs. “Won’t get it.”

“You’ll get something,” Grantaire says. “Both of you.” Eponine looks at him skeptically. “I can talk to my boss.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Eponine says, though her tone suggests she believes otherwise. She stands abruptly. “You should sleep, Marius. You too, R. Are you gonna crash here?” Grantaire hesitates. “Montparnasse won’t come around until tomorrow afternoon. You’re good.” Grantaire nods.

“All right,” he says, helping Marius to his feet. Eponine sets about cleaning the kitchen. Grantaire moves to help, but she slaps his hand away lightly.

“Get him to bed,” she tells him, gesturing to Marius, who’s wobbling a bit and looking at them rather blearily. She smiles at Marius, warm and fond. “Good night, you two.”

“’Night, darling,” Marius responds lazily, blowing a kiss. He always becomes fond of pet names when he drinks. “R, will you—“

“Yes, yes, I will, but I swear, Marius, if I wake up without any covers again…” Grantaire doesn’t bother finishing the threat, because they all know he’ll wake up without covers and he won’t mind one bit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan laughs. “You fall so easily, Courf,” he says fondly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding Jehan and Courfeyrac: they are in a committed, established relationship, but it is the polyamorous/open type. Sometimes one of them will have a fling with another person, sometimes there is a third partner in their relationship. Everyone understands and is aware of the agreement, everyone involved in the relationship(s) are fine with the polyamory, etc.
> 
> Regarding Jehan/potential trigger warning: Jehan has some eating disordered behavior, aka a tendency to forget to eat. It will be mentioned in passing now and then.

Grantaire is working a slow mid-morning shift: the in-between where the majority of the customers have had their morning coffee, and only a few customers linger. There is an elderly couple sitting by the window, sipping tea and reading quietly, holding hands all the while. A harried-looking mother comes in briefly, two energetic toddlers clinging to her legs; she orders a double shot and two milks, and hurries out before her children spot the cookies in the glass case.

Jehan is there; he sits close to Enjolras’s usual table, scribbling in a notebook, barely pausing to sip the latte he’d ordered. Grantaire knows from experience that unless one of the Amis comes in, Jehan will stay there well past dinner.

Sure enough, Courfeyrac enters not twenty minutes later. He looks less than his usually cheerful self, though he brightens visibly when he spots Jehan. He goes immediately to Jehan’s table, pressing a kiss to his head and murmuring a hello, then turns to Grantaire and orders a chai.

Grantaire’s already in the process of making his drink. The Amis are creatures of habit. He slides it across the counter; Courfeyrac nods his thanks and returns to sit with Jehan.

Jehan finally looks up from his notebook. “Are you all right?” he asks, frowning slightly.

Courfeyrac nods slowly. “Yeah. Yes. I am. I just—“ he glances at the couple near the window, then leans a little closer to Jehan. “There was this guy.”

Jehan laughs. “You fall so easily, Courf,” he says fondly.

“Not—“ Courfeyrac huffs indignantly. “I mean, he was beautiful, yes. But that’s not what I meant. I saw this guy. I don’t know, I suspect he was our age but he looked so—he seemed really innocent. You know what I mean? Made him seem younger. Anyway. It looked like a couple of cops were harassing him—“

Jehan purses his lips, nods. The Amis have gone to their share of protests, and while they’ve encountered some good cops, they’ve also dealt with plenty of abuse of power, with unnecessary force, with racial profiling. They’re rather suspicious of cops, as a group.

“—and then he started running and I, well, I grabbed him and led him down a couple alleys, and we lost the cops, and—“ Courfeyrac sighs. “He looked really scared, and he had these eyes, y’know, he didn’t look like a criminal or anything.”

“He had these eyes,” Jehan repeats. “Your way with words, Courf…” Courfeyrac waves him off impatiently.

“Just—just so innocent, and lost. But then when we’d caught our breath, he—he looked angry? And he asked why I helped him, said I shouldn’t have.” Courfeyrac takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. I asked him if he was in trouble, if he needed help. I thought, whatever it was, surely Enjolras would know someone, would have some sort of contact for it.”

Jehan waits, and when Courfeyrac doesn’t continue, he reaches out to take his hand. “What’d he say?”

“I didn’t understand. He just laughed and said, as if I didn’t know. But I didn’t, I don’t know what he meant.” He looks at Jehan sadly. “He looked so beautiful and innocent, but he was so bitter and—and defeated.” He brings Jehan’s hand up to his mouth, and kisses it gently. “I can’t stop thinking about him,” Courfeyrac admits.

Jehan looks pensive. “We can look for him, if you’d like. You’re right, whatever it is, Enjolras probably knows someone who can help.”

Courfeyrac shakes his head. “I doubt I’ll find him again. I’d never seen him before; a face like that, I would have remembered.” Courfeyrac smiles a little. “J, he had the cutest freckles. Freckles! I almost couldn’t stand it.” Jehan laughs.

“The boy with the freckles,” he muses. “Hmm.” He eyes his notebook, then quickly scribbles a couple lines down. “I hope he’s all right,” Jehan says softly, and Courfeyrac makes a noise of agreement.

[To Puppy: cops?]  
[To R: shit]  
[To R: howd u no]  
[To Puppy: customer talking about innocent freckle faced boy he helped save?]  
[To R: shit shit shit ok yes cops but im ok]

When the elderly couple leaves, Grantaire ducks into the backroom of the café to call Marius. “Tell me what happened,” he says when Marius answers.

“One of them recognized me. One of the cops who arrested Azelma the last time.” Marius groans. “It should be fine, right? I’ll just have to be more careful.”

“Yeah. Shit.” Grantaire leans heavily against a wall. “Yeah, just be careful when you go out. They’ll be looking for you for a while but it’ll blow over soon enough.”

“So—that customer?”

“Thinks you’re cute.” Grantaire laughs. “Very taken with your ‘innocent eyes’. You have a very distinctive face, it would seem.”

“Ugh, it’s not doing me any favors with the police.” There’s a noise in the background. “I gotta go, R. I’ll see you later.”

“Be careful, kid,” Grantaire says unnecessarily, and Marius hangs up with a click. Grantaire leaves the backroom a little reluctantly, but the café is still empty save for Jehan and Courfeyrac, so he makes himself a drink.

He relaxes eventually, and gets back to work when the pre-lunch crowd stops by. Jehan and Courfeyrac remain at their table, Jehan writing and Courfeyrac frantically highlighting a textbook. An hour in, Courfeyrac orders a bagel and pushes it at Jehan, who starts a little but takes a few bites. Feuilly stops by for a coffee, reminding Courfeyrac of the time before he leaves.

“Shit.” Courfeyrac gathers his things in a hurry. “Got an exam today,” he says, half to himself. “I’ll see you after class?”

Jehan nods absentmindedly. “I’ll be at your place.” He lifts his head to accept a kiss and returns to his notebook as Courfeyrac hurries out the door.

“Make him finish that bagel,” he says to Grantaire on his way out. Grantaire is too surprised to respond.

It takes some prompting, but Jehan does eventually finish the bagel, and after another half hour of scribbling, he’s joined by Combeferre.

“You ate?” Combeferre raises an eyebrow at the crumb-covered plate still sitting on the table.

“Courf was here,” Jehan murmurs.

“Ah.” Combeferre nods. “Last minute cramming, I assume? He kept moaning about how unprepared he was yesterday.”

“Not everyone begins studying two weeks in advance like you and Enj.” Jehan smiles. “Though I’d agree that the morning of is rather pushing it.”

Combeferre takes a sip of the latte he’d ordered. “Did he seem semi-prepared, at least?”

Jehan shrugs. “I don’t know, he was a little distracted. Met a boy this morning.” Combeferre laughs.

“Is this one for sharing?”

“Just—in passing, really. He didn’t get a name or anything. Thinks he won’t see him again.” Jehan sighs. “The boy with the freckles.”

“No name won’t stop Courf if he’s genuinely interested, and you know it. Did he meet this ‘boy with the freckles’ at uni?”

“No.” Jehan’s eyes flit down to his notebook, then back to Combeferre. “They just passed each other on the street, that’s all. Courf said he had a really nice face.”

“A nice face?” Combeferre looks skeptical. “High standards, he’s got.”

“I’ll let Courf tell you the story,” Jehan says. “It’s—well. I’ll let him tell you.”

Combeferre watches him bemusedly. “All right? Is it a proper story then? Well, I’m sure he’ll be eager to tell it tonight, once he’s got a few drinks in him.” Combeferre drifts off in thought for a moment, then turns to Grantaire. “Hey, are you busy tonight?”

Grantaire freezes in the middle of making a couple of mochas for a pair of teenaged girls. “Uh.” He sets the cup down before he spills. “Why?”

“Going out for drinks,” Combeferre explains. “Last day of midterms, so we all need to blow off some steam, you know? You’re welcome to join. Chetta will be there.”

“Oh.” Grantaire goes back to making the mochas, thinking. “Nah. Thanks. I don’t think I should be drinking with my boss, you know?”

Combeferre frowns. “Chetta’s not the type to care. I mean, you’re legal right? I guess I just assumed you were our age, I mean, you look it—“

“I am.” Grantaire hands over the mochas, then runs his fingers through his hair. “Look, I can’t.” He hesitates. “I have to work tonight.”

Jehan tilts his head. “You close at nine.” He reminds him. “We won’t be going out until ‘round eleven, at the earliest.” He looks at Grantaire earnestly. “We’d like it if you came, really. Someone asked after you the last time.”

“Hang out with us,” Combeferre wheedles gently, smiling a little. “Aren’t we friends? We’ve got to make it official!”

Grantaire’s distracted for a moment. “What—who asked about me?” he asks, confused.

Combeferre smirks and says, “it doesn’t matter,” just as Jehan replies, “Enjolras.” Grantaire’s eyes widen a little.

“Oh.” He blinks, and then straightens. “I really can’t, though. Another time.”

“And your excuse is?” Combeferre asks expectantly.

“I told you, I have to work.” Grantaire sighs. “I—I have a second job. Uh—at a… nightclub? Yeah. So, another time then.”

“Oh.” Jehan looks a little put out. “I didn’t know you worked two jobs.” He exchanges a glance with Combeferre. “Well, tell us when you’ve got off, and we’ll go out then.”

“We’ve got to make it official,” Combeferre says again.

Grantaire lets out a breath. “Deal.”

[To Eponine: giving your resume to my boss tonight. when can you start]  
[To R: really??]  
[To R: tomorrow i guess]  
[To R: thank you!!!!]

Grantaire can hear the incessant chatter from down the hall; Marius is talking excitedly a mile a minute. When he swings open the door to their apartment, the first thing he notes is the sight of Eponine’s wide eyes, a clear distress signal.

“Hi?” Grantaire says tentatively.

“R!” Marius is way too excited, especially for a work night. Grantaire joins them at the kitchen table. “I met someone today,” Marius blurts out. His grin is so wide that Grantaire’s surprised his face hasn’t spilt.

“Oh?” Grantaire glances at Eponine, who shakes her head subtly. Grantaire asks anyway. “Who?”

“She’s so lovely,” Marius says dreamily. “She’s just—she’s amazing.”

“Huh.” Grantaire doesn’t know what to do with this one. “What’s her name?”

Marius’s face falls a little. “I don’t know. I didn’t… exactly… talk to her?” He blushes a little, realizing how he sounds. “Oh, god. This is so stupid. I saw her on the bus. She was reading a book of poetry, and—and she had a notebook with the university logo on it, and that’s literally all I know about her.” He sighs. “I’m a massive creep, aren’t I?”

“You’re a romantic,” Eponine offers. “Almost the same thing.” Grantaire laughs.

“Well, fine, so you know she goes to uni and you know which bus she takes. Next time you see her, say something,” Grantaire advises. “Otherwise you’re officially a creepy stalker.”

“I can’t talk to her!” Marius sounds scandalized. “Are you kidding? ‘Talk to her,’ that’s your advice?” He scoffs.

“…And why can’t you talk to her?” Eponine asks, confused for a moment before looking annoyed. “Oh, god, are you having self-esteem issues again? Do we have to have the self-confidence talk, really? Because I’m out of alcohol and I refuse to have a feelings talk sober, you know my rule—“

“No,” Marius waves at her to stop. “No, I just—how can I talk to her? I’m…” He gestures at himself. “You know. I mean, she’s beautiful and probably intelligent and—and goes to uni! And I’m a whore!”

“Ah.” Eponine leans back into her seat, thoughtful. “Well. She doesn’t have to know, right?”

“I can’t hide this,” Marius says pitifully. “I’m a terrible liar, you know that.”

“I don’t suppose you’d want a casual relationship?” Eponine asks, though she already knows the answer. “You know, no last names, keep your life story out of it, that sort of thing.”

“I don’t want that,” Marius says, softly and a little sadly. “I want—I mean, I know it’s unrealistic for me but I do want something real. Something that lasts.” He gives them the big eyes, the ones that earned the nickname Puppy. “I can’t help it, I believe in love, and all that.”

“You’re really in the wrong business, kid,” Grantaire says, and not for the first time. He sighs. “Look, one step at a time. Talk to her. She might not even be interested. She might not be into guys, y’know.”

“Yeah, I’ll just—I’ll just talk to her.” Marius nods to himself, determined. “Yeah.”

Grantaire stands. “You really out of alcohol?”

“Out of the feelings-talk type,” Eponine says.

“There’s a couple beers left,” Marius adds. Grantaire goes to grab one. “I—“ Marius starts, then hesitates. “I need to find another job,” he says finally, so quietly that it’s nearly a whisper. “It’s not just about her,” he adds before Eponine can interject. “I just can’t do this much longer. I know we said it’d be a gradual thing, but…” He looks at them helplessly.

“If you want to do this faster you’ll have to find two jobs,” Eponine says bluntly.

“I got the bussing job,” Marius tells them. “It’s something, I guess. Crap pay, obviously.”

“Because we’re used to such a high standard of living,” Eponine laughs.

“I guess I’ll go ‘round tomorrow,” Marius continues, ignoring her. “Hit up some new places.” He sighs. “Any suggestions?”

“I’d talk to my boss but she took a lot of convincing to bring Ep on, I don’t think she’ll go for another.” Grantaire looks at him apologetically.

“I’ll figure it out,” Marius says, resigned.

“We always do.” Eponine smiles gently. “Y’know, I did just see a new help wanted sign this morning… oh, where was it? On the way to the bus stop. I don’t remember what it was, but you should go by, see if it pans out, yeah?”

“Thanks, E.” Marius reaches out, squeezes her hand.

“Excited to start tomorrow, Ep?” Grantaire changes the subject. “You’re starting with Chetta, evening crowd. Think you can handle it?”

Eponine shrugs. “I’ve had just about every other job there is,” she says, stealing a sip of Grantaire’s beer, and then handing the bottle to Marius. “Making coffee shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Chetta’s good company,” Grantaire tells her. “You won’t be bored, at least. And that group should be there, the Amis.”

“Oh, yeah,” Eponine nods, as Marius raises an eyebrow and asks, “who?”

“I didn’t tell you about the Amis?” Grantaire takes his beer back. “They’re like a—I don’t know, a social activist group, I guess? Bunch of kids from the university, they talk about political shit a lot.” He shrugs. “I don’t usually listen. They do some protests and shit sometimes, but—y’know.”

“Change the world types,” Eponine says, nodding slowly. “They’ll get over it by the time they graduate, I’m sure.” She laughs, a little bitterly. “Looks good on a resume. Doubt they actually give a shit.”

“I think the leader does.” Grantaire finishes off the beer. Marius gets up to grab him another. “Enjolras. I think he genuinely cares about this stuff.” Marius hands him the bottle, and he accepts it with a nod. “Not sure about the others. I think it goes beyond resume building, but you’re right, it’ll probably end when they graduate.” Grantaire knows the type rather too well. “They’re a good group, though, Ep. I think you’ll like most of them.” He offers her the beer.

Marius glances at the microwave clock. “Shit.” He gets up, takes a quick swig of beer, then hands it back to Eponine. “Gotta get ready,” he explains, disappearing into his room.

Grantaire groans. He’s on tonight as well. “Yeah, I should get going.” Eponine wordlessly gives him the beer, and he finishes it quickly. He wipes his mouth and sets the empty bottle down on the table. “Who d’you have tonight?”

Eponine shakes her head. “It’s an easy night; he pays for an hour but always leaves after half. Y’know, the one who always has me call him ‘big daddy’?”

Grantaire snorts. “Oh, right. Have fun, then.”

“I usually do with him.” Eponine smiles. “You?”

“The crier,” Grantaire replies, and Eponine laughs.

“Shit.” Marius’s voice floats out from his bedroom. “E, did you borrow my glitter eyeliner?” He pokes his head out.

“Left it on my dresser,” she says. “You want the false eyelashes, too?”

“Nah, just the eyeliner,” Marius calls over his shoulder as he goes into her room. “Thanks.”

Eponine turns back to Grantaire and gives him a wry look. He shrugs.

“Our lives,” he says, and then he’s out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marius smiles at him, wide and open and genuine, and Jehan nearly stumbles backward. He wants to capture that smile, wants to frame it, work it into a sonnet, anything to make it last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential trigger warning: the last scene in this chapter involves discussion of forced sex work versus sex work as choice. Includes Enjolras being a privileged idiot.

When Jehan arrives at the bookstore for his morning shift, he’s still going over the poem he’d written last night, making some changes and rewriting mentally, so it barely registers when his boss tells him about the new kid.

“He’s coming by around noon,” his boss says, “so just show him the basics, help him out if he needs anything. I’ll do the proper orientation with him tomorrow, I just don’t have the time today…”

Jehan nods, not at all listening. “Of course,” he says, “it’s no problem.”

He only remembers the conversation when, at noon exactly, the front door swings open, and a rather nervous looking kid comes in. He’s around university age, Jehan notes, perhaps a year or two younger. He’s thin and pale, and walks as though he’s just learned how. He looks around, a little anxiously, before walking over to Jehan with a tight smile.

“Hi,” he says breathlessly. “I’m—I’m supposed to work today? My name’s Marius.”

“Oh.” Jehan blinks, and thinks back to what his boss had told him. “Oh, right! Marius! Hi. Uh—“ He quickly reaches out to shake Marius’s hand. “I’m Jean. Jehan.”

Marius smiles, more relaxed now. “Hi, Jehan.” Now that he’s up close, Jehan can see the freckles dotting Marius’s cheeks, beneath bright, big eyes. Jehan almost can’t look away.

“Um,” he says eloquently. “Right. First day. I can show you around, then? This time of day isn’t quite so busy,” he comes out from behind the counter and begins to lead Marius around. “It picks up again around three or so. How long’s your shift today?”

Marius stops to glance at the back of a book. “Until close,” he says.

Jehan nods. “Great, me too. So I’ll just show you the basics today, and tomorrow I think you’ll get your full tour, all right?”

“Thanks,” Marius says, and it sounds like he means it. Jehan can’t help but smile.

“You can read that behind the counter if you’d like,” Jehan tells him, nodding at the book he’d picked up. “I mostly write when there’s no one around. This time of day is pretty relaxed.” Marius smiles at him, wide and open and genuine, and Jehan nearly stumbles backward. He wants to capture that smile, wants to frame it, work it into a sonnet, anything to make it last.

Jehan shakes his head, pulls himself together—stores the moment away to write about later—and shows Marius around. Marius listens intently, eagerly, and he only knocks over a stack of books once. Jehan’s impressed at how many times Marius narrowly avoids bumping into a shelf; he briefly wonders who taught Marius how to walk.

The afternoon passes slowly, as it always does. They talk now and then, easy chatter. Jehan has a million questions burning in his mind, but he stops himself before asking anything too personal, and they get along.

Jehan watches when Marius has his first interaction with a customer, ready to step in if he’s needed, but Marius handles it easily. He’d claimed not to have much work experience, but he handles people well, always seems to know what to say. Jehan had expected some awkward fumbling, but Marius’s clumsiness seems to vanish when customers appear. He looks a professional, and so Jehan sits back and watches and writes a little.

He doesn’t write about that smile. Of course not.

 

[To Puppy: ep said you found a second job?]  
[To R: last min thing but ys! bkstr! its gr8]  
[To Puppy: seriously kid i have no idea what that means]  
[To Puppy: …bookstore?]  
[To R: dont b an ass & cum say hi]  
[To Puppy: don’t spell come like that again oh my god]  
[To R: so r u cummin]  
[To Puppy: no you’re the worst]

Eponine looks up at the sound of laughter as the front door swings open; a trio walks in, and Eponine vaguely recognizes them as a part of Grantaire’s “Amis.” She tries to remember their names; she’s only been working at the café for a week, and so far the only names she can hold on to are Enjolras, Joly, and Bossuet—Joly and Bossuet because they’ve come in at least once every day to chat up Musichetta, and Enjolras because Grantaire won’t shut up about him.

“Hi!’ The one in the middle smiles brightly at her. “How are you today, lovely Eponine?”

She laughs a little. The charmer is Courfeyrac, she remembers suddenly. “Fine, thanks. Chai latte, right?”

“You remembered!” Courfeyrac sounds delighted.

“And,” Eponine pauses, trying to remember the other two names. She points to one of the boys. “Tea?” He nods. Jehan, she recalls, and tucks his name away into her memory. She turns to the third. This one takes a bit longer, but suddenly she remembers that it’s Combeferre, and— “Latte, yeah?” He nods, throws in a grin. “Right up,” she says, and the trio takes a table.

She listens absently to their chatter as she makes their drinks, and after she hands the drinks over, she begins to clean. The café is mostly empty; it’s quiet and slow, and Eponine finds she can actually relax while she works. It’s new to her; even at home, she finds herself tense, anxious. Here in the café, she’s already begun to feel comfortable. She wonders briefly if she can take a nap in the backroom once Grantaire shows up. She considers texting him.

Courfeyrac brings her back to reality, abruptly, as he often does. It’s only been a week and she’s already picking up on their habits. He’s talking loudly, as usual, waving his arms a bit, while Jehan looks at him fondly and Combeferre takes a sip of his latte to hide his amusement.

“Text him, right now! Or call him,” Courfeyrac is saying. “I want to meet him. Oh, he’s not a serial killer, is he?” Combeferre chokes on his drink, coughs.

“He’s harmless,” Jehan says around a laugh.

“Hope you aren’t getting yourselves into trouble,” Eponine says pointedly from where she’s restocking behind the counter. “I’ll have to tell Chetta. Enjolras, even.”

Courfeyrac feigns horror, and Jehan laughs again. Combeferre shakes his head. “Courfeyrac may have found a new roommate,” he tells her. “A friend of Jehan’s, it seems.”

“Coworker,” Jehan corrects him, and then sighs, a little dreamily. “Oh, but he’s so lovely. You’ll like him, Courf.”

“New roommate, huh?” Eponine looks at Courfeyrac. “I thought you lived off your parents, dude. What do you need a roommate for?” Courfeyrac bristles a bit.

“It’s not about rent or whatever,” Combeferre says offhandedly, and Eponine tries not to roll her eyes at the callous attitude. Money issues always get to her. “But it’s a two bedroom, and apparently this guy is desperate, in a shitty living environment, you know, needs to get out, that sort of thing.”

“And he’s cute,” Jehan adds, “and I think he and Courf would get along. Plus, Courf needs someone there to make sure he doesn’t burn the house down.” Jehan and Combeferre laugh over the shared joke. Courfeyrac looks annoyed.

“It was just half a kitchen wall. It needed new wallpaper anyway. Are you going to call him or what?” Courfeyrac asks impatiently. “I want to be sure he isn’t going to try to eat me. Or at least make sure he really is cute.” He ignored Combeferre’s snort of amusement.

“He’s adorable, Courf,” Jehan assures him. “But I don’t have his number. Sorry! But I’ll tell him tomorrow. You can come by if you really want to meet him?” Courfeyrac shrugs.

“Yeah, I’ll try to stop by,” he says. “Wait, what’s his name again?”

“Marius,” Jehan says, and Eponine drops a mug.

 

[To R: marius is moving out]  
[To Eponine: ????]  
[To Eponine: already?]  
[To R: looks like he found someone willing to help out]  
[To R: doesnt need the money, rich kid with a cause, etc]  
[To Eponine: …is he a serial killer?]  
[To R: one of your amis]

Grantaire shows up for work early, and Eponine smirks when she spots him, unsurprised. The trio is still sitting at their table, now joined by Enjolras as well as a second round of coffees—and tea for Jehan, of course. Grantaire nods a hello at them before ducking behind the counter.

“What the hell?” he greets her. She gestures at an incoming customer. Grantaire pulls himself together long enough to take the man’s order, while Eponine makes his drink. When he’s done, Grantaire turns back to her. “Tell me what you know,” he says.

“Courfeyrac,” Eponine murmurs, keeping her voice low unnecessarily. The group at the table is talking too loudly for her to be overheard. Enjolras, it seems, has found a new cause, but it’s taking some convincing to get the others fully on board with this one. Eponine hasn’t been listening; Enjolras is easy to tune out. “He’s got a spare bedroom and a disposable income, it seems. Think he’s lonely or trying to get his brownie points or some shit.”

“Wha—“ Grantaire looks at Courfeyrac, confused. “How did this even happen? How do they know each other?” Eponine shakes her head.

“Did you know Jehan works with Marius? At the bookstore,” she clarifies, and Grantaire’s eyes widen, because he’d known Jehan worked at a bookstore, of course he’d known, but of all the bookstores in town… “I guess Marius told him he was lookin’ to move.” She shrugs. “Hope it works out. One less thing to worry about, huh?”

Grantaire nods absently. “Crazy. That’s good though, right? It should be fine?” He looks at Eponine, a hint of worry in his eyes. She shrugs.

“You know ‘em better than I do, and you seem to like them. If this guy wants to feel like he’s making a difference or whatever bullshit then that’s great. Marius gets a place to live, dude gets to feel good about himself, win-win.”

Grantaire lets out a slow sigh. “Just you left, then.” He picks up a rag and pretends to wipe down the counter. “Uh.” He doesn’t know how to say things delicately. “When Marius moves out, if you—you can crash with me, if you don’t want to stay alone. Safer, probably.” And Eponine gives him a genuine smile, open and warm.

“Your place is tiny and cramped and smells like boy,” Eponine says. “I’ll be fine.”

Enjolras and Combeferre get up to leave. Combeferre gives them a little wave, and Enjolras, predictably, does not look back. He and Combeferre are arguing about something, but Grantaire doesn’t have time to make it out before the door shuts behind them. Grantaire frowns at the closed door.

“You could try talking to him,” Eponine suggests as she nonchalantly makes herself a mocha. “Y’know, like normal people do.”

Grantaire scoffs. “No idea what you’re talking about,” he says, but his grin gives him away.

 

[To R: !!!!!!!!!!!!]  
[To Puppy: ok]

[To Eponine: !!!!!!!!!!!!]  
[To Marius: oh god what is it]

When Marius bursts into the apartment, he finds Grantaire dozing on the couch. “Don’t you have somewhere else you can do that? Your own bed? In your own apartment?” But his tone is teasing and affectionate, because he could never kick Grantaire out; he’d never want to. Grantaire just mumbles in reply and shifts a little. “Ep!” Marius calls, and Eponine comes to the doorway of her bedroom.

“Yes, dear,” she says with a sigh, sounding resigned despite the quirk of her lips.

“Jehan—you know, the guy I work with?— he talked to that friend of his and he said there’s room for me to stay, and, Ep, I might have a place!” Marius is practically bouncing. Grantaire gives up on sleep.

“That’s great.” Eponine offers him a grin. “Actually—we kind of heard about it. Yesterday.”

“Jehan’s a regular,” Grantaire says. “Thinks you’re cute.” Grantaire shakes his head. “Adorable, isn’t that what he said?” Eponine nods.

“You—why you didn’t tell me?” Marius looks confused, a little worried.

“Didn’t know if it’d pan out.” Eponine shrugs. “Didn’t want to get your hopes up, kid. Talking about it doesn’t mean they’re going to do shit. Thought it’d be better to wait and see if they follow up.”

“Oh.” Marius nods, and then his wide smile reappears. “Right. Well, Jehan gave me this guy’s number, and I’m going to meet with him tomorrow, but it looks like it’ll work out. I don’t know, he seemed excited?”

“That’s Courf 24/7,” Grantaire laughs. “You’ll get used to it.”

“So you know Courfeyrac as well?”

“Another regular,” Eponine tells him.

“Huh.” Marius shoves at Grantaire, who makes room for him on the couch. “I need to meet these people, then. And that Enjolras, right?” He elbows Grantaire, who swats the back of his head in return.

“Give it a rest,” Grantaire says, feigning annoyance.

“You’re the one who can’t stop talking about him.” Eponine smirks. “I don’t get the appeal, Taire. He’s attractive, sure, but he seems like a dick.”

“Well—“ Marius starts, and Grantaire claps a hand over his mouth.

“No dick jokes,” Grantaire tells him firmly, “I’m gay, I like dick, we get it— shut up, Marius,” he adds as Marius laughs into Grantaire’s hand. “You aren’t as funny as you think you are,” he says as he removes his hand. Marius just grins at him, and he sighs but puts his arm around Marius’s shoulders anyway.

Eponine rolls her eyes, calling them idiots over her shoulder as she disappears back into her room.

 

[To Marius: sure you dont want me to come with you?]  
[To Eponine: no but thnx]  
[To Marius: you’ll tell me if he tries anything right]  
[To Marius: bring some pepper spray]  
[To Eponine: i no how 2 fight ep ill be ok]  
[To Marius: you’re bringing a knife arent you]  
[To Eponine: obv]

Grantaire has the morning shift at the café, and he opens up shop on autopilot, occasionally cursing Eponine for getting to sleep in. He wasn’t meant for late nights and early mornings, and he sneaks in a couple of espressos in quick succession before any customers arrive.

The first hour passes too slowly for him, as it always does. By the time the morning crowd starts drifting in, the espresso has kicked in, and Grantaire moves smoothly, quickly, with practiced hands. He greets Enjolras and Combeferre when they come in, but doesn’t have time to say much else to them, moving on to the next customer. Grantaire always works best under pressure, and the line of cranky, uncaffeinated clients moves in no time.

He survives, as he always does, and when the crowd thins out, he pours himself a coffee and wishes for something stronger. He’s already promised himself he wouldn’t drink on the job—alcoholism runs in his family and damned if he’s going to turn out like his dad—but he daydreams about the whiskey waiting for him at home.

It’s the time of day where Grantaire starts to get bored. There isn’t much to clean or restock just yet, and the morning crowd is gone, and so he’s always left to his own thoughts, and those are often dangerous. Grantaire finds himself glancing toward Enjolras, more than once. With a resigned sigh, he steels himself and leans across the counter to address the duo. They’re bent over a notebook; Combeferre is reading while Enjolras seems to be gauging his reaction.

“So what is it this time?” Grantaire asks, trying to be nonchalant. “Homeless shelter? No, no, wait, let me guess. That’s too easy. Gonna stop the drone strikes? That’s it, isn’t it?” He’s only teasing, but Enjolras stiffens at his remarks.

“Enjolras wants us to start working with a new organization,” Combeferre says, not looking up from the notebook. “It’s—it’s kind of like a safe house. Or a halfway house, I guess.”

“Oh.” Grantaire’s mildly impressed. Enjolras usually aims for big picture issues without any immediate solutions. A safe house is more direct. “Who for? Immigrants? Battered women’s shelter?”

“This one’s specific to sex workers,” Combeferre says offhandedly, and Grantaire feels suddenly cold. He straightens and makes himself busy, grabbing a cleaning rag abruptly.

“Oh,” is all he says, and Enjolras shoots him a look.

“These people get forced into horrible conditions,” Enjolras lectures. “This program helps them transition, finds them real jobs.”

“Real jobs,” Grantaire repeats. “Sure.”

“It’s still a bit small,” Combeferre says, finally looking up from the notebook. He slides it back to Enjolras. “But it seems effective. Hopefully we can help it grow.” Enjolras nods at him, pleased.

“So, what, you find hookers and teach them to read or some shit?” Grantaire asks. He keeps his head down, lets his hair fall into his eyes. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling, and that scares him. He doesn’t see Enjolras frown at him.

“We seek out people who have been forced into sex work, and help them escape,” Enjolras explains. “The people who work with this program already have some idea of who the traffickers in this area are. Or how to find them, anyway. It’s not—it’s dangerous, obviously; traffickers want to hold on to what they’ve got, so it’s dangerous to help these people escape. But it’s important, isn’t it?”

Grantaire reminds himself to breathe. “You’re an idiot,” he says finally.

“Excuse me?” Enjolras’s tone is dangerous, but Grantaire meets his gaze all the same.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, “if you think you’re going to make a difference with this shit. You’re better off sticking to soup kitchens and shit, honestly, what’s a bunch of college kids going to do up against a pimp, huh? Jesus, d’you even know what you’re getting yourself into?” Grantaire doesn’t know if he’s scared or angry or both, but he can’t stop himself. “These people are fucking dangerous, all right? They’ll stab you in the throat and won’t even blink. And what are you going to do when you find yourself a hooker who doesn’t want to leave her trade, huh? Yeah, fuck, some people get kidnapped and get forced into this shit, it fucking sucks, but some people like doing this work, some people fucking chose this job. What are you gonna do about them?”

Enjolras looks stunned, but he tries to recover with a scoff. “Why would anyone willingly choose such a demeaning job?” he asks, and Grantaire wants to punch him. “People don’t just wake up and decide to sell their bodies,” he says knowingly. Combeferre says nothing, just watches Grantaire with something in his expression, something piercing and disconcerting.

“You don’t know shit,” Grantaire says. “Yeah, human trafficking, sex slavery, it’s a real thing, it’s fucking awful, but there are plenty of prostitutes and porn stars who go into the work because they want to. Not everyone wants fucking saving, and if you’re going to be serious about this shit, you gotta know the difference.”

It’s the first time Grantaire’s seen Enjolras left speechless; it should be a victory, but Grantaire just feels sick.

“How do you know so much about this stuff?” Combeferre asks him quietly. Grantaire takes a couple of breaths, tries to calm himself down.

“I’ve read a fucking book,” he says after a few beats of silence. “I don’t have to go to fucking uni to learn shit, do I?”

He counts himself lucky that the café is nearly empty as he stomps outside for a smoke break.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It hits Courfeyrac then that Marius doesn’t fully trust him.

Grantaire knows he’s in trouble when the pounding at the door turns out to be Marius. When the banging had started, startling Grantaire awake from a nap, his first thought had been Montparnasse. Now— taking in Marius’s red face, his labored breathing— Grantaire suddenly finds he’d rather deal with Montparnasse. He, at least, would just take a swing or two and be done with it. Marius, though…

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!” Marius yells, and Grantaire takes a step back. Marius has never been angry at him before, and he’s not sure what Marius will do. He’s seen the kid hold his own in a fight or two, and he braces himself, just in case. “He’s one of your regulars, right, you knew it was him—“ He’s fuming. Marius is actually fuming. He looks like he wants to throttle Grantaire; his hands clench into fists, and Grantaire can’t tell if he’s preparing himself, or trying to regain control.

“Uh.” Grantaire takes another step back. “Sorry? D’you want to come in?”

Marius just glares at him. Over his shoulder, Grantaire spots Eponine running up to the apartment, looking wild and frantic. “Shit,” she wheezes as she reaches them. “Shit—sorry, R, I tried—dammit, Marius—shit—“ Marius shakes his head, still not looking away from Grantaire, and stomps into the apartment. Grantaire wordlessly steps aside to let Eponine in, and closes the door behind her.

Grantaire goes to sit on the futon where he’d been napping; Marius paces a little, and Eponine watches warily from her spot next to the door. Her eyes follow Marius’s movements, but occasionally flick toward Grantaire briefly.

“So what happened?” Grantaire asks finally, and Marius stops pacing. He keeps his back to them. The tension in his shoulders and the shaking of his hands are all too visible, and Grantaire feels a sudden pang of guilt.

“I went to his place,” Marius says, his voice low and hollow. “Courfeyrac. He remembered me. I thought he was going to pass out or something, he, like, forgot to breathe for a minute.”

Marius falls silent, and when it’s clear he isn’t going to offer any more, Eponine prompts him. “And?”

“And nothing.” He turns around to glare at Grantaire again. “And I fucking ran out of there, that’s what. Christ.” He runs a hand through his hair, curls his fists again. He still looks like he wants to punch something, and Grantaire averts his gaze.

“Why?” Eponine exclaims. “Marius, you’re not going to find another place anytime soon, not until you’ve got some money saved up, and that’ll take months. I thought you didn’t want to wait that long? Staying with Courfeyrac is a good deal.” Marius laughs humorlessly.

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t live with him. He knows, E, he saw me with the police that day, he knows what I do—“

“He doesn’t,” Grantaire says. “Really, Marius. Look, I was there when he told Jehan about it, remember? He said he had no idea what you’d done, just that he thought you were beautiful, blah blah blah…” Grantaire sighs heavily. “I am sorry. I probably should have warned you, but we both know that if I had you never would have gone.”

“Exactly!” Marius snaps. “The whole point is that I’m trying to get away from this, Taire, I don’t need my future roommate to know I’ve been arrested—“

“To be fair, he doesn’t know about that time,” Eponine interjects. “Just the time you almost got arrested.” She smiles at him, a little cheekily. “There’s a big difference, you know.”

Marius rolls his eyes. “Whatever. He’s going to want to know why the cops were chasing me, he’s going to ask questions, and eventually he’ll find out, and I—I don’t fucking need his judgment, all right? I can’t deal with that.”

“Courf’s a really good guy,” Grantaire says softly. “He won’t make you pay rent until you have the money, he has a lot of space, it’s a good location, too…” Grantaire watches him, a little sadly. “He might not understand what we do or why we do it, but he won’t judge you. Really, Marius.”

Marius scoffs. “Sure. So you two want to tell him that you work with me?” He looks from Grantaire to Eponine and back. They don’t answer him. “You want to tell that group—that—those Amis—you want to tell them about the shit we do? You really think they won’t judge us?” Eponine shrugs.

“He has a point,” she says. “Courf is a good person, but he’s also got money and he goes to university and he’s had an easy life. And honestly, he’s probably got plenty of preconceived notions about our line of work. They might mean well, but they won’t be able to help themselves, R, and you know it. People like them hear the word prostitute and immediately have an image in mind, and it probably isn’t pretty.”

Grantaire sighs. “I just don’t want you to turn this down, Marius. It’s such a good deal, it’s perfect, really, and I know you don’t want to keep living in Montparnasse’s fucking property, like we need another reminder—“

And suddenly the fight goes out of Marius, and he drops beside Grantaire on the futon. He leans against Grantaire, moves in close so that Eponine can sit on his other side. Grantaire slings an arm around him, and Eponine rests her head on his shoulder. They’re quiet for a while.

“I wish we could go back,” Marius says finally, his voice quiet and thick with emotion. They all know what he’s thinking, but he goes on anyway. “Before we met him, before we had to deal with all this complicated shit.”

“It was pretty simple then, huh?” Eponine puts a hand on Marius’s knee, squeezes gently. “Just working the corner like we did. Our golden age,” she says, and laughs, because it’s ridiculous. “Freedom, and all that.”

“Being told who to fuck and how to fuck ‘em—“ Marius breaks off suddenly, clearly thinking about Alex or another one of his horrible clients. Grantaire pulls him a little closer. “I’m done with Montparnasse.”

“I’d go back to the corner if he wouldn’t murder me for it,” Eponine says casually. “So we’ve gotta move forward, yeah?”

Grantaire says nothing. They’ve discussed this once, when they were all terribly drunk and thought they wouldn’t remember it the next day. But they had remembered, of course they had. It had been the reason they’d started looking for other jobs, started making changes.

“Yeah,” Marius replies after a beat. “Move forward,” he repeats, and then groans. “Fine.” He sits up from his position against Grantaire, and the loss of contact leaves Grantaire’s side feeling cold. “I’ll go back and talk to Courfeyrac. God, I can’t believe I ran away like that.” He puts his head in his hands. “What was I thinking? He’s going to tell Jehan and Jehan’s gonna want to know what the hell is wrong with me… And we were just starting to really get to know each other, ugh, I liked him, too…” He looks up helplessly. “Why can’t I have normal relationships?” he asks, and he’s only half-joking.

“I dunno, I think the three of us are pretty solid,” Eponine says. Grantaire snorts.

“Mentally deficient,” he says, “but sure, solid.”

[To Jehan: WHERE ARE YOU OH MY GOD]  
[To Jehan: OMG J I NEED TO TALK TO YOU]  
[To Jehan: JEHAN!!!!!!!]  
[To Courf: I’m at home, are you ok?]  
[To Jehan: I’M COMING OVER OH MY GOD]

Courfeyrac bursts into the apartment Jehan shares with Combeferre and Bahorel. The three of them are sitting in the living room with Enjolras, and all four jump when the front door slams open.

“It’s him,” Courfeyrac says, winded and practically doubled over, before he realizes Jehan isn’t alone. “Oh. Sorry—“ He tries to catch his breath.

“Who?” Combeferre asks, looking a little too amused. “It’s who?”

“Did you run all the way here?” Jehan asks, wide-eyed.

Courfeyrac ignores the question. “It’s him, J, the boy with the freckles. Marius! Jehan, Marius is the boy with the freckles!”

Jehan gasps. “Oh. Oh my god.” He gapes at Courfeyrac. “Courf, oh my god!” Courfeyrac nods emphatically, his wide eyes mirroring Jehan’s.

“What does that mean?” Combeferre asks. “Marius is the boy with the freckles? Jehan’s Marius?”

“Yes,” Courfeyrac says as Jehan murmurs, “he isn’t mine.”

“The guy you were meeting about your apartment?” Enjolras asks.

“Yeah, Jehan’s coworker? He’s the guy I saw running from the cops that one time. Remember? Jehan wrote a poem about it?”

Jehan shakes his head. “I can’t believe that was Marius. All this time we’ve been working together…”

“So what happened?” Bahorel asks. “You met up with him? And?”

Courfeyrac sits, finally, perching on the arm of the couch, keeping close to Jehan. “He came over to look at the place, and I recognized him immediately, I told you, his face is so—ugh, he’s so cute,” and Jehan nods his agreement, “and then he realized who I was and he took off,” Courfeyrac finishes sadly.

“And you still don’t know why he was running from the police?” Combeferre asks, looking pensive. “Maybe he thought you would turn him in?” Courfeyrac looks distraught.

“But I helped him escape!” He looks at Jehan. “I want to talk to him. Does he work tomorrow?”

“Not sure cornering him at the bookstore is the best idea,” Enjolras tells him. “Let Jehan talk to him first, yeah? Tell him we can help him out and all that.” Jehan nods.

“This is crazy,” Courfeyrac whispers. “I didn’t think I’d see him again.”

“I’ll talk to him, Courf,” Jehan says softly. “He probably just panicked, but I’ll talk to him and it’ll be fine. Marius is wonderful and I know you’ll all like him and— he really is desperate for a new place to live, I don’t think he’ll turn you down. And if he’s all right tomorrow, I’ll let you know and you two can meet up again. Yeah?”

Courfeyrac nods and rests his hand at the nape of Jehan’s neck, stroking lightly with his thumb.

[To Eponine: going 2 courfs 4 real this time]  
[To Marius: good luck babe!]

When Courfeyrac opens the door, Marius is standing there with a nervous expression, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet; Courfeyrac just gives him a gentle smile.

“Hi, Marius,” he says, a little tentatively, as if not to spook him. Marius finds himself relaxing.

“Hi, uh, Courfeyrac. Um. It’s nice to meet you.” Marius laughs, aware of how awkward he sounds. “Thanks for, you know, all this.”

Courfeyrac stands aside to allow Marius entrance. “It’s nothing. I have an empty room, you need a place to stay,” he shuts the door behind Marius, “and Jehan really likes you, y’know, he talks about you all the time.”

Marius blushes, and it takes all of Courfeyrac’s energy not to coo affectionately at the sight. “Jehan’s great,” Marius says, oblivious to Courfeyrac’s reactions. “And I’m just really grateful, to both of you.” His smile is so earnest, and Courfeyrac has to look away. He jumps into action.

“All right. Grand tour,” Courfeyrac says, leading Marius away from the door. “Living room’s a little small, but I’m a cuddler, so I find it comfortable.” He turns back to look at Marius. “Oh, I guess I should’ve warned you—I’m kind of—I’m pretty touchy-feely? Like, with all my friends. So if you’re one of those people who doesn’t like to be touched, tell me now so I can—I dunno, write it down so I don’t forget or some shit—“

Marius cuts him off with a laugh. “It’s fine,” he says. “I’m used to being touched.” He grimaces for a moment, and Courfeyrac looks at him oddly. “Uh,” Marius shakes his head and quickly backtracks. “Grantaire’s a secret cuddler, too. So I’ve gotten used to it. I don’t mind, actually. It’s nice, sometimes.”

“You know Grantaire?” Courfeyrac asks, surprised.

“He didn’t tell you?” Marius rolls his eyes. “He’s an idiot. Yeah, Grantaire and Eponine, too, we’re all friends. Um. Family, actually,” he admits, and Courfeyrac looks at him appraisingly.

“Just when I think I’m going to figure you out,” Courfeyrac says, more to himself than to Marius, “new mysteries arise.” Marius bursts into laughter.

“Jehan warned me,” he says around what Courfeyrac can only describe as a giggle. “He said you were overly dramatic. New mysteries arise, really?” And Courfeyrac laughs as well.

“C’mon,” he says, pulling Marius along gently. “Let me show you your room.”

“Oh, is it mine already?” Marius asks lightly, still laughing a bit.

“Absolutely,” Courfeyrac replies firmly. He opens the door and lets Marius go in first. “I know it’s a little small,” he continues, “but it’s yours if you want it. And—look, I’m respecting your privacy, all right? I’m not going to ask for specifics or anything. But just—don’t worry about kicking in for rent until you can. I know the bookstore doesn’t pay a lot, and Jehan mentioned you had a second job? But you know, do what you need to do to get settled. Whatever’s going on right now—worry about that first.”

Marius turns to face him, slowly, with a heart-breaking expression on his face. The bedroom is bigger than his, bigger than the living room he shares with Eponine, even. He looks at Courfeyrac with something of confusion and a little doubt.

“Why?” he asks. “Why would you do this for me?”

It hits Courfeyrac then that Marius doesn’t fully trust him, and it stings, just a bit. “I’m just trying to help,” he says gently. “I don’t need to know what’s going on, that’s your business. But Jehan likes you, and you seem like a good person, and—and money isn’t an issue, all right? So I don’t want you to worry about it.”

Marius relaxes, smiles at him. “Thank you,” he says sincerely. “I—yes, I do want it. Thank you.”

Courfeyrac grins. “Great. Just let me know when you want to move in, and we’ll sort the rest out later, yeah?”

“Sure.” Marius nods. “Jehan gave me your number. I have to… deal with some things? At home? But I’ll give you a call, let you know.” He glances at his phone as he speaks. “I should—“ he points at the door, and Courfeyrac nods. “If I’m going to catch the bus…” He trails off sheepishly.

“I’ll see you soon, then,” Courfeyrac says lightly, grasping his shoulder and squeezing. Marius thanks him a few more times, only trips a little, and finally makes his way out, a hint of a smile still on his face.

He runs to the bus stop and makes it just in time; the doors swing shut the moment he steps on, and by the time he sits down he has a second to catch his breath before he realizes who he’s seated next to. He flushes instantly, but she meets his gaze before he can look away, and he suddenly finds himself opening his mouth.

“Hi,” he says, still a little breathless. “I’m Marius.”

She smiles prettily and goes a little pink as she replies, “Cosette.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You ranted about him for over an hour,” Combeferre informs him. “You called him stupidly beautiful.” Enjolras blushes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that I've tagged dubcon for a reason. It will be dealt with in full in the next chapter.

Marius plugs the speakers into his iPod—a gift from a customer—and leans against the kitchen counter as he waits for the kettle to come to a boil. Jehan had introduced him to a new brand of tea, and he already can’t get enough of it. He’s on his third cup of the day. He turns his music up; Courfeyrac is out and he’s got the place to himself, and he’s going to take advantage of it.

“Everybody asks me why I’m smiling out from ear to ear,” he sings, and then he pushes away from the counter and starts to get into it. “Nothing’s perfect but it’s worth it—“ He spins around, closes his eyes. He hasn’t danced in a while, and he now realizes how much he’s missed it. Early on, he and Eponine would dance like this in the living room, and if Grantaire was there he would tuck himself into a corner and watch fondly over a sketchpad.

“Finally you put me first! Baby, it’s you!” Marius belts it now, letting loose in a way he hasn’t been able to for too long. He laughs as he spins around again, shaking his hips in his signature move. “You’re the one I love! You’re the one I need!” The kettle beings to whistle then, and he smoothly turns the stove off and continues to dance.

“Finally! You put my love on top!” He spins around again, closes his eyes as he dances around, throws his arms up. He spins again, and opens his eyes to see Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras standing in the doorway.

Courfeyrac’s eyes are wide and his eyes are trained on Marius’s hips, stunned. Combeferre looks as though he’s suppressing a laugh, while Enjolras merely raises an eyebrow, looking mildly amused. Marius grins at them and doesn’t falter in his dance; he points at Courfeyrac and continues to sing along.

“Baby, it’s you! You’re the one I love! You’re the one I need!” Marius grabs Courfeyrac’s hands and squeezes them as he dances closer to the trio. “You’re the only one I see!” He winks at Enjolras, who surprises him with a warm laugh. “When I need you everything stops!”

The song ends and goes right into another, but Marius has already danced his troubles away, so he throws a grin at the trio still in the doorway and goes to pour his tea. “I thought you weren’t coming back until later?” Marius asks Courfeyrac. Marius has his back to them and doesn’t see the way Courfeyrac keeps glancing at his hips, still looking stunned.

“Enjolras didn’t want to work at the café,” Combeferre says, stepping further into the apartment and swatting at Courfeyrac furtively. “His favorite barista has today off.” He smirks, and Enjolras frowns at him.

“It was too noisy there,” Enjolras protests, but it’s a weak argument and he doesn’t bother defending it.

Marius turns to face them again, now taking a sip of his tea. He gives an appreciative moan as he drinks. “I’ll never be able to repay Jehan for this,” he says, shaking his head. “God. This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted— this tea is life-changing, I swear.”

“I still don’t understand the appeal of tea,” Enjolras says mildly. “You have to put all kinds of things in it just to tolerate the taste—what’s the point?”

“You take your coffee black, Enj, so I wouldn’t expect you to understand the delicacies of tea,” Combeferre says.

“Coffee, at least, tastes better on its own. Put sugar into coffee and it’s undrinkable. But tea is only drinkable after you’ve dumped in a pound of sugar.” Enjolras looks around the kitchen. “Speaking of—we didn’t get anything at the café, I assume you’ve got coffee around here?”

Courfeyrac nods and points to one of the cabinets. Marius sets his mug down. “I’ll make it,” he offers, already moving to get the coffee out.

“Oh.” Enjolras blinks, surprised. “Thanks.” Marius just throws him a sunny grin. “Well. I guess we should do some work, then?” He glances at Combeferre, who nods. “Courfeyrac,” Enjolras snaps. Courfeyrac finally looks away from Marius.

“Yeah, sure,” he says.

“Are you going to be too distracted here?” Combeferre asks pointedly. Marius, misinterpreting, hurriedly turns his music off.

“I’m on my way out,” he tells them. The coffee’s starting to brew, and he leans back against the counter and sips at his tea. “I’ll be out of your way in a bit.”

“You’re not in the way,” Enjolras tells him. He’s already spreading his things on the kitchen table: a couple of notebooks, a newspaper, a laptop. “You’re welcome to join us, actually.”

“We’re getting ready for a rally,” Combeferre explains, taking a seat at the table and picking up one of the notebooks. “Next week. You should join, if you can. Well, if you’re interested.”

Marius nods. “Sure,” he says. “Jehan’s told me a lot about what you do. It sounds really interesting.” He glances at his phone, checking the time. “But I can’t stay today, I really am on my way out. Just tell me the details later, Courf? I’d like to go to the rally.” Courfeyrac nods.

“Of course.”

Marius finishes his tea and washes the mug out in the sink, delicately setting it on the rack to dry. He flashes the trio a final grin. “I’ll see you later then.” He pockets his phone, checks for his keys, and starts toward the door. He opens it and turns to address them over his shoulder. “And Enjolras—“ Marius fixes him with a knowing smirk. “Grantaire’s working tomorrow.”

The door swings shut behind him and Combeferre bursts into laughter. “Already got you pegged, he does.”

“Shut up,” Enjolras mutters.

Combeferre shakes his head. “Dunno how someone so oblivious can be so observant. He’s only known you for like a week and yet he doesn’t seem to notice the way Courf looks at him.”

“Did you see him dancing?” Courfeyrac exclaims. “Did you see the way he was moving? I’m going to die. Ferre, I’m going to die, the way he was moving his hips, oh my god—“

“Get a grip,” Enjolras advises him.

“I don’t get it, he trips like every five minutes but he can move like that? He’s so cute, it’s not fair,” Courfeyrac wails.

“I can’t deal with this right now.” Enjolras grabs the newspaper and unfolds it. “Courf, we’ve got work to do. Can you hold off on the meltdown until later? Preferably when Jehan’s around?”

Courfeyrac gives a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. Postponing meltdown.” He sinks into the seat beside Combeferre. “But the next time you get drunk and complain about Grantaire I’m not going to let it go.”

Combeferre snorts. “Because you clearly let it go the first time.” Enjolras rolls his eyes.

“I drunkenly mentioned him once,” he snaps. “You bring up Marius all the time when you’re sober, what’s your excuse?”

“You ranted about him for over an hour,” Combeferre informs him. “You called him stupidly beautiful.” Enjolras blushes. “Anyway,” Combeferre says, sharply elbowing Courfeyrac. “This isn’t the time for that. Enj’s right, we’ve got work to do, we’re already behind on this rally shit. Can we hold off on the teasing until after the rally’s done with?”

[To Grantaire: come to the party tonight. i want a rematch]  
[To Bahorel: if you think you’ll ever out-drink me you’re sorely mistaken my friend]  
[To Grantaire: REMATCH]  
[To Bahorel: when you puke im going to laugh and then keep drinking]  
[To Bahorel: i’ll be there]

Grantaire tosses his phone aside and lets himself fall back, lying completely in the grass now. Marius steals the bottle of wine from him, and he genuinely doesn’t notice. The sun is warm against his face, and he’s just drunk enough that the prickling of the grass doesn’t bother him. Eponine laughs above him, and he tunes out of her and Marius’s conversation, his thoughts wandering elsewhere.

Marius and Eponine go on for a while, passing the bottle back and forth, and Grantaire doesn’t take much notice until another voice joins in. He opens his eyes, squinting against the sun, as Jehan sits with them, settling close beside Marius. He watches as Marius leans into Jehan’s presence, already comfortable with him.

“Hi, Grantaire,” Jehan says with a small wave. Grantaire nods at him.

“How’re you doing, Jehan?” Grantaire asks in greeting. He doesn’t sit up, but closes his eyes again, enjoying the feel of the sun.

“Fine. I hope you don’t mind me joining you?”

“Of course not,” Eponine tells him, finishing off the wine.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Jehan continues. “This is—I come here to write sometimes. It’s really lovely when the flowers start blooming, I just can’t stay away.” He laughs. Grantaire cracks an eye open, and sure enough, Jehan’s tucked a flower behind his ear.

“Aren’t you cute,” Eponine coos.

“This used to be one of my favorite places,” Marius confesses. “I came to the park all the time when I was younger. It’s— well. It’s been a while.” Eponine looks at him sadly.

“Marius was just telling us about living with Courfeyrac,” Eponine says after a beat. “I think I’ve learned way more about him than I ever wanted to know.”

Jehan laughs. “Courf is something else, isn’t he?” He glances at Marius. “I do hope it’s going all right? Courfeyrac means well but he can be a bit much sometimes. That’s partly why we haven’t moved in together yet.”

“You two are very different,” Grantaire notes lazily. “Dunno how it works, but you fit, somehow.”

“Courf’s been great,” Marius says. “He’s—well, he’s got a lot more energy than what I’m used to. And, uh, there’s a bit more cuddling. Like, a lot more cuddling. And he likes to come into the bathroom when I’m in the shower?”

“No sense of personal space or privacy, yeah, that’s Courfeyrac for you.” Jehan nods. “Tell him to get a lock installed. Really. He won’t stop otherwise. He might try to, but he’ll forget.” Jehan smiles affectionately. “He’s just very enthusiastic. He does mean well, but for both your sakes, you’d best get a lock put in.”

“I mean, besides that, it’s going great,” Marius says. “He’s a lot of fun, and he is very thoughtful. And he keeps making me breakfast? I’ve told him he doesn’t have to, he’s already doing so much for me— but then the next morning he’s at it again.”

“Just means he likes you.” Jehan smiles. “I knew you two would get on. You’re both so lovely.” Marius blushes faintly, and Eponine rolls her eyes.

“This is too cutesy,” she complains, though the corners of her mouth tug upward. She lies back on the grass with a happy sigh, curling her body toward Marius when he joins her. Above them, Jehan pulls out his notebook and begins to write.

[To Marius: so??? what’d cosette say??]  
[To Eponine: shes out of twn w her dad til nxt wk so were goin out wen shes bak]  
[To Marius: ahh yay!]  
[To Marius: still can’t believe you actually talked to her. so proud!!]

There’s a shout of welcome when Grantaire steps into the apartment. The entire place already smells of booze, everyone holds a bottle or a red cup, and music that Grantaire doesn’t recognize blasts from where Bossuet’s hooked up his iPod. Grantaire wants to laugh; it’s such a typical college party, and he suddenly feels that no amount of alcohol will help him here.

“You came!” Courfeyrac exclaims as he rushes to embrace Grantaire. Grantaire pats him on the back and just laughs.

“Took your time,” Eponine says; she’s perched on the arm of a couch, slightly flushed from drinking. Combeferre stands beside her, and he waves to Grantaire in greeting.

“Got caught up with some stuff,” Grantaire says lightly. “And I’m way too sober, it seems.” He turns to Courfeyrac. “Beer?”

“There’s plenty in the fridge, but the good stuff’s in that cooler,” Courfeyrac informs him, pointing to a small, red cooler tucked into a corner. “Start with that, it’s almost gone.”

“Right.” Grantaire goes to grab himself a drink just as Bahorel reaches the cooler for a new one.

“Grantaire!” Bahorel booms. “Thought you weren’t going to show up, you fucker.”

“Pass up on free drinks? Me?” Grantaire laughs. “Looks like I need to catch up if we’re going to have a rematch, though,” he notes. Bahorel passes him the bottle opener and takes a swig of his own beer.

“Eh, another time. Don’t think Enjolras would be too happy if I puked on his floor, y’know?” Bahorel laughs. “I’ll take you down eventually, though, just you wait.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Grantaire says good-naturedly. Bahorel punches him in the arm and goes to talk to Feuilly. Grantaire looks over to where Combeferre and Eponine are watching Courfeyrac talk animatedly, gesturing wildly and sloshing a bit of beer around. He thinks better of it, and instead goes to where Enjolras is standing with Joly. They haven’t properly talked since their fight, and Grantaire figures alcohol is a good medium to smooth things over.

“Hey, Grantaire,” Joly says warmly. 

“Not drinking?” Grantaire asks around sips of his own drink.

“Have to drive those two home,” Joly answers, nodding toward where Bossuet and Musichetta are talking rather closely in the corner. “I don’t drink much anyway.”

Grantaire nods, then slides his gaze over to Enjolras. “All right?”

Enjolras meets his gaze firmly. “All right.” His eyes flick toward Joly briefly, who makes some mumbled excuse and hurries off to join Bossuet and Musichetta. “Um.” Enjolras shifts awkwardly. “Look—“

“Forget it.” Grantaire waves him off. “Or at least let me get drunk first.” Enjolras laughs, relaxes a bit.

“Well get yourself a shot or two, because I’m apologizing, all right? Sorry for, y’know, being an insensitive dick or whatever.” It’s not the best apology, but Grantaire has it on good authority that Enjolras rarely apologizes, so he’ll take it. “I’m trying to learn more about this stuff,” Enjolras continues. “I’m not—I really do want to do this right. But you were right, I didn’t really know what I was getting into. Um. I’ve been reading up, y’know. So.” He looks at Grantaire, a little awkwardly, and Grantaire finds himself grinning.

“I’ll take that shot now,” he says. “And I think you’ll want one, too, yeah?” Enjolras shrugs his agreement. “Great. What’ve you got?”

“Vodka, mostly. Courfeyrac brought it, dunno, I’m not a hard liquor type.”

“Vodka?” Grantaire grimaces. “Of course Courf drinks fucking vodka. All right, then.”

It takes a few shots, but Enjolras eventually relaxes enough to have a normal conversation, one where he grins and laughs and actually talks without arguing. Grantaire almost doesn’t know how to deal with it. Enjolras, apparently, knows how to make jokes and have a casual conversation, and not once does he mention the situation in Palestine or the fight for equal rights or any of the other causes Grantaire’s so used to tuning out.

It’s nice, talking to Enjolras, being around the Amis in a comfortable context. It strikes him then that he really does consider them friends, not just amiable customers; it’s a first for him, and maybe it’s the alcohol—probably it’s the alcohol- but Grantaire feels warm here, content.

“When did you become such a fucking sap,” Grantaire mutters to himself later, when he slips into the bathroom to splash water on his face. He’s had more alcohol than he’d meant to, and his reflection in the mirror swims a bit in front of his eyes. “Dammit.”

There’s a sharp rap on the bathroom door, and Eponine’s voice floats in. “You talking to yourself again? Open up, c’mon.”

Grantaire lets Eponine in and shuts the door behind her. “Wait for me to leave before you pee,” he says, turning to the sink to splash more water on his face.

“Nope,” Eponine replies; she pulls her pants down and manages to land on the toilet somewhat awkwardly. “Fuck.” She sighs. “I’m drunk, R.”

“No kidding.” He snorts.

“Combeferre’s so nice,” she continues, ignoring him. “He’s cute, isn’t he?” Grantaire shrugs.

“Yeah. Not my type so much, but he’s definitely cute.”

Eponine cackles. “No, not your type.” She stands and flushes and clumsily pulls up her pants. “Your type is blonde and pretty and asshole.” She laughs again. Grantaire moves aside so she can get to the sink.

“He’s not so bad,” he insists. “We’ve been talking. He’s actually pretty great once he loosens up a bit.”

“Ugh, just get it in already,” Eponine tells him. She dries her hands off and wrenches open the door. “Courf!” she shouts. Courfeyrac’s pulling his coat on, but he grins at them as Eponine stumbles his way.

“Leaving?” Grantaire asks. “Not driving, I hope?” Courfeyrac shakes his head.

“Nah, I’m making Joly drop me off.”

“It’s still so early,” Eponine protests. “Why’re you running off so soon?”

Courfeyrac throws an arm around her, and it only serves to make them both more wobbly. “Got to get home. I miss Jehan.” He whines a little, and Grantaire laughs. As if Courfeyrac weren’t clingy enough when sober. “He had a movie night with Marius. Like a date,” Courfeyrac says conspiratorially. “I miss him. I miss Marius, too. Did you know Marius can dance? Marius can dance!”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “You saw Marius dance?”

Courfeyrac nods enthusiastically. “He knows how to move! Did you know that?” He stumbles a bit, and nearly brings Eponine down with him. Enjolras appears suddenly, gripping Courfeyrac by the waist to steady him. “Enj!” Courfeyrac doesn’t seem to notice his near-fall. “You were there, tell them Marius can dance.”

Enjolras laughs. “We caught him jamming to Beyonce,” he tells them. “It was quite something.”

“He danced for us. Lovely Marius.” Courfeyrac sighs and leans further into Enjolras.

“Marius danced to Beyonce for you?” Grantaire’s surprised. “He must like you, then. He doesn’t dance for just anyone, you know.” He nods knowingly. Eponine laughs beside him.

“Courf, you ready?” Joly calls over to him. He’s gripping Bossuet’s arm. Musichetta leans against the wall beside them. Courfeyrac nods.

“Adieu, my lovelies,” Courfeyrac says, kissing Enjolras on the cheek as he slips away. Enjolras just shakes his head.

[To Eponine: wtf where’d you go]  
[To R: combeferre took me home]  
[To R: & THEN DROPPED ME OFF & LEFT WE’RE NOT FUCKING I SWEAR]  
[To Eponine: ok ok wow i didn’t say anything?]  
[To Eponine: please tell me you at least kissed him]  
[To R: shut the fuck up of course i did]  
[To R: he asked me out & shit how cute is that]

When Courfeyrac arrives home, he finds the wreckage of Marius and Jehan’s movie night strewn all over the living room: half a cold pizza, a near-empty bottle of gin, a couple of blankets discarded on the floor, and the pair slumped on the couch, giggling absently at the television. Courfeyrac goes over to the couch and smoothly settles in on Marius’s other side, effectively sandwiching him in.

“Hello, darlings, I have arrived,” he says dramatically, pressing a kiss to Marius’s cheek and then leaning across him to kiss Jehan on the lips. “How was your date?”

Marius giggles. “I think I’m drunk, Courf.”

“Oh my sweet child,” Courfeyrac pats him on the head gently, though a little clumsily. “Aren’t we all.”

“Good party?” Jehan asks.

“Successful for almost everyone, I think.” Courfeyrac eyes Marius closely. “Should I put some music on? Perhaps some… Beyonce?” Jehan grins and shakes his head. Marius’s eyes widen.

“I’m not sure I could do much without falling over right now,” he says contemplatively. “I should probably… get to bed soon?” He glances at Jehan, who nods.

“I’m certainly ready for bed.” Jehan shuts the television off and looks at Courfeyrac, who winks at him and stands.

“All right, then.” Courfeyrac takes a moment to steady himself, and then offers a hand. “Shall we?”

Marius looks at the hand uncertainly. “Um,” he says. Jehan stands as well and nudges Marius gently with his knee.

“C’mon,” Courfeyrac urges. “I can't wait any longer. It’s time, isn’t it?”

Marius swallows heavily. “You’re drunk,” he says shakily. He glances back and forth between the two. Jehan just tilts his head and says nothing. Courfeyrac smirks a little.

“It would’ve happened eventually,” he says. “Wouldn’t it?” He thrusts his hand forward, expectantly. “Marius. C’mon.”

Marius glances at Jehan one last time and slowly reaches up to take Courfeyrac’s hand.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is half concern, half annoyance, as always, but Marius is undeterred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for discussion of dubcon/non-consensual sex. I decided to split it into two parts, so discussion of dub/noncon will continue in the next chapter.

Marius bursts into the café, red-faced and panting, practically bowling over the couple making their way out. He doesn’t notice the glare Enjolras sends his way, doesn’t notice that the Amis are gathered for a meeting, doesn’t see that they all turn to watch him with varying expressions of amusement and concern.

Grantaire’s leaning against the counter, but he straightens immediately when he takes in Marius’s expression. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice low and urgent.

Marius shakes his head. “Where’s Eponine?” He tries to catch his breath. Grantaire jerks his head toward the backroom.

“Taking five,” Grantaire tells him. “Marius, what’s wrong?” But Marius just rushes past him into the backroom; Grantaire makes to follow, but stops when a small group of teenagers walk in. He glances behind him continuously, nervously, as he takes their orders and makes their drinks, and once he even catches Enjolras looking his way with a touch of concern on his face.

Before Grantaire can go into the backroom to investigate, Marius and Eponine come out, hand in hand. Eponine, Grantaire notes, looks slightly pale and shaky, and he immediately reaches out to grip her by the shoulders, steadying her gently.

“One of you,” he says, voice low so that no one will overhear, “tell me right now. What’s wrong?”

Eponine looks incapable of speech, so Marius answers for her. “I saw him,” he says in a near-whisper. “I saw Gavroche.” Grantaire loosens his grip on Eponine, his mouth dropping open. Marius nods at his stunned expression. “I saw him over by the park, I talked to him—found out where he’s staying—“

Eponine lets out what sounds like a choked sob, and Marius gathers her in his arms. Grantaire watches them, still stunned. “I can’t believe you finally found him,” he says slowly. “Holy shit. This is great, holy shit!” Eponine gives him a shaky grin. “So—what are you going to do?”

She sighs. “I have to talk to him. I—I need to see him.” She blinks rapidly, stopping her eyes from tearing up. She bites her lip and looks up at him. “Um. Would you—“ Grantaire waves her off.

“I’ll cover for you,” he says gently. “Go on.” She smiles gratefully, even stretches up to press a kiss to his cheek. He swats at her, but laughs anyway. “Go,” he says again.

She turns on her heel and leaves the café without a backward glance. Marius gives Grantaire one last look before turning to follow. He falters when he sees the Amis all looking their way; he waves at Courfeyrac and steadily meets Enjolras’s gaze—Enjolras is half concern, half annoyance, as always, but Marius is undeterred—and then he quickly ducks out after Eponine.

Grantaire tries to go back to work, but his focus is shot, and it doesn’t help that the Amis are occasionally glancing over at him. He wants a drink, but he settles for tea. It doesn’t do much for him, it never has, but it keeps him busy for a few moments.

He tries not to think about the last time he’d seen Gavroche. He tries not to think about Eponine crying that day, or the way she’d looked for weeks after.

He’s sweeping when the Amis break up for the night. Bahorel claps him on the shoulder, offers an “all right?” before taking off, Feuilly in tow. Jehan and Courfeyrac are being disgustingly cute again as they leave with Joly and Bossuet, casually chatting and sparing Grantaire a wave as they make their exit.

Combeferre actually stops in front of Grantaire, which he’d been expecting, and gives him a searching look. “Is everything all right?” Combeferre asks slowly. “Eponine looked upset.” Enjolras comes to join them, standing at Combeferre’s shoulder, his face impassive.

Grantaire shrugs, glancing from one to the other. “It’s not really my place to tell. Uh—dunno, ask her if you’re concerned. But don’t push it, yeah? She might not want to talk about it just yet.”

Combeferre nods. “I’ll give her a call tomorrow, then,” he says, and Grantaire gives him a nod of approval.

“Do you need a ride home?” Enjolras asks. His voice and expression betray no emotion, but Grantaire knows better by now.

“Nah.” Grantaire shakes his head for emphasis. “Gonna catch the bus.” Combeferre rolls his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m taking him home,” Combeferre says, jerking his head in Enjolras’s direction, “it’s not a problem dropping you off.”

Grantaire hesitates. “I’ve still got some cleaning to do.”

“We’ll wait,” Enjolras says firmly, and that’s that. He takes a seat at one of the tables Grantaire’s already cleaned, and pulls out a book. Combeferre mirrors him. Grantaire stares at them for a moment longer, before a small grin escapes him and he goes back to cleaning.

The silence is comfortable and companionable. It’s strange and different, though not unpleasant. When he’s finished closing up, Enjolras stands and asks if he’s ready, as though he doesn’t know. Grantaire just nods and grins in return.

The ride home is just as comfortable, though not quite as silent. Combeferre plugs in his iPod before he starts to drive—20/20 starts playing, and Grantaire just snorts and says “of course” and then sings along a bit—and Enjolras carries the conversation, as usual. Combeferre talks and Grantaire argues, mostly, but it’s all friendly and relaxed.

And once he’s back at his place, stretched out on the couch with a beer in hand, Grantaire thinks about Enjolras, thinks about the Amis. He thinks about the fact that these people are somehow in his life now, and that maybe—maybe—he’s begun to trust them.

He feels the sudden urge to call Enjolras and tell him the truth. Tell him everything.

He doesn’t.

[To Courfeyrac: nt cummin home 2nite, ep is upset, need 2 stay w her]  
[To Marius: ok? hope everything’s ok? let me know if you need anything?]  
[To Courfeyrac: thnx its fine c u 2mrw]

Marius wakes up before Eponine, as he often does, and sets about making coffee, even breaking out the frozen waffles. He doesn’t have to wait long before Grantaire lets himself in, looking as though he hadn’t slept in days. Grantaire slips into one of the kitchen chairs, and nods his thanks when Marius slides a mug of coffee his way.

“So how is she?” Grantaire asks after a while. Marius munches on a waffle.

“As expected. A lot of emotions right now, you know? The whole thing is upsetting, but she’s relieved, I think, I mean—we’d nearly given up on finding him, hadn’t we? It’s been, what, two years? Nearly two. God, I’ve never seen her like that, Taire.” Marius chews on a large bite of waffle for a bit, seemingly drifting off into thought.

“And what happened?” Grantaire prompts, when Marius appears to have forgotten that he was talking.

“Oh.” Marius sets his waffle aside and goes to pour himself some coffee. “They just talked for a really long time. We went to his house, you know, talked to his foster parents. They’re actually all right, or they seemed to be. But Gavroche seemed fine, doesn’t mind them much. I expect they’re a step up from the originals.” Grantaire snorts. “I’ll let Ep tell you the rest,” Marius says around a sip of coffee. “They talked for ages. I didn’t stay, didn’t want to intrude, you know.”

“He look good?”

“He’s gotten so tall,” Marius says, his voice full of emotion. “God, he’s changed so much. But he looks pretty happy, you know, he looks all right.”

Grantaire nods. “Good. He needs that. He deserves it, he’s still so young.” He’s quiet for a moment. “She deserves it, too.”

Marius nods firmly. “She does.”

They fall silent, working their way through the box of frozen waffles and the coffee, moving around the kitchen easily. By the time Eponine staggers out of her bedroom, the waffles are half gone, and there’s a second pot of coffee brewing.

“’Morning,” Eponine mumbles as she takes a seat.

“Good morning,” Marius says cheerfully, placing a plate of waffles in front of her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Coffee’s nearly done.”

“Mm,” Eponine says, both in acknowledgement and thanks. Marius understands.

Grantaire waits until Eponine is fed and caffeinated before asking, “So?”

Eponine sighs and pushes the now empty plate away. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I don’t know what to do. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all night.” She bites her lip. “I want to bring him home, but—“

“But?” Grantaire prompts.

“I thought it’d be best, but after seeing him, after talking with him…” She sighs. “It wouldn’t be fair to him, especially not right now. I’m trying to move out, I barely have enough money, and he—he’s got decent foster parents, y’know, he actually likes them and they’re good to him, and it’s so different from anything he’s ever had, and—I want him here, with me, of course I do, but I also want him to be safe and happy. And—and I think he’s got that where he is now.”

“You could probably work something out with his foster parents,” Marius adds softly. “So you get to actually see him this time.” Eponine nods.

“They were good people,” she says, “I’ll go back and talk to them. Tomorrow.”

Grantaire glances at the kitchen clock and hops up from the table. “Shit, I’m gonna be late—“ He finishes off what’s left of his coffee and goes to rinse out his mug, but Marius stops him and takes it gently out of his hand. “Thanks, Pup.” Marius rolls his eyes.

“Why do I do nice things for you?” he complains even as he turns to the sink, reaching for the dish soap.

“You’d be lost without me,” Grantaire counters, giving Eponine a kiss on the cheek as he sweeps out of the apartment. “Be good,” he calls over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

The apartment is quiet and relaxed as Eponine helps herself to more waffles, and Marius cleans up. It’s one of their lazy mornings, like the ones they used to have: sleep in, have a long breakfast, read in the park or dance in the living room or sit about and talk. It’s always been comforting to Eponine, like what she’d always thought a family should be.

“I miss you,” she says quietly, and she knows Marius hears. “I miss having you here. I know I see you every day, but—well, you know.”

Marius turns to her and smiles. “I know. I liked living with you. And I promise we can have a sleepover whenever you want.”

Eponine taps at the tabletop absently. “I guess I just always used to know what you were up to, what you had going on. And now I feel really behind.” She tilts her head at him. “I told you about Combeferre, right? No catching up needed there?”

Marius leans back against the counter. He grins. “Yeah. Oh, I’m all caught up. When’s your date, anyway?”

Eponine blushes faintly, though she’ll deny it later. “Tomorrow night.” She allows herself a smile. “I like him a lot. We haven’t had much time to talk since Enjolras’s party—they’re all really busy this week, with some rally or something? So it’s just been texting, mostly, and I’ve seen him at the café a couple of times, but… well. It’s not a great setting for one-on-ones.”

“No, I’d guess not,” Marius says. “Well, you’ll have to tell me all about your date. Combeferre seems all right, but you know I’ll hit him if he misbehaves, right?”

Eponine laughs. “If he misbehaves, I’ll hit him. You know you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Eh, doesn’t stop me.”

“Ugh.” Eponine shakes her head. “Don’t you start. Anyway, you’ve got to update me! On the whole—“ She waves a hand around. “What was her name? That girl, Cosette, right? Isn’t she back in town? When are you going out? Oh my god, Marius, you have to keep me updated, start talking.”

Marius ducks his head. “Oh. Um.” He glances away from Eponine, his gaze landing on the floor. “I don’t think I’m going through with that one.”

There’s silence for a moment. Eponine is staring hard at him, while he continues to watch the floor.

“Why not.”

Marius sighs. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t go out with her, she’s so beautiful and perfect, and she’s going to find out what I am and—it’s not fair to her.”

“It’s not fair to her?” Eponine scoffs. “And what about you? Your happiness is, what, last on the to-do list?”

“It’s not as dramatic as that,” Marius snaps. “She’s going to find out and when she does she’s going to be devastated and end it and then I’m going to be devastated, and I want to save us both the trouble. I’m being practical, all right?”

Eponine studies him carefully, shaking her head ever so slightly. “Right. So I shouldn’t go out with Combeferre, then?”

Marius looks at her, finally, his head snapping up quickly. “No! E, of course you should go out with him. You deserve to be happy, you—“ He stops short, suddenly realizing her trap. “I—no. It isn’t the same.”

“It is, you know it is,” Eponine tells him gently.

Marius draws a slow breath. “I can’t. Please drop it, E, I can’t.”

She looks at him, long and searching, but Marius has his stubborn moments, and she knows better than to push it.

[To R: marius is being weird can you talk to him plz]  
[To Eponine: ok? anything specific?]  
[To R: idk he won’t tell me anything & you know how he is]  
[To Eponine: & he’ll tell me because…?]  
[To R: please]

Grantaire’s at the café, working alongside Musichetta, so he takes his break a bit early and ducks into the back to call Marius. He’s impatient, and he’s worried, and that’s never a good combination.

“What’s wrong?” Grantaire asks the instant Marius answers.

“What? Nothing. What’s up?”

Grantaire sighs. “I don’t have time for this. Don’t make me worry about you, too, kid. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s really nothing. Is this about Cosette? I’m going to kill Eponine—“

Grantaire frowns. “What’s going on with Cosette?”

There’s movement in the background. “Nothing. Exactly that. I decided not to ask her out and Eponine got all worried. It’s fine, really.”

“No, it isn’t,” Grantaire says firmly, worry starting to really creep up now. “You were really excited about asking her out, now tell me what’s wrong. Marius!” Grantaire snaps when he’s met with silence.

“I—“ Marius mumbles something unintelligible.

“What.”

“I—I slept with Courfeyrac. Um. And Jehan. At the same time.” It’s quiet, save for Marius’s nervous breathing. “Taire?”

“You slept with Courfeyrac and Jehan,” Grantaire repeats slowly. “When?”

“Um.” Marius huffs a sigh. “After Enjolras’s party?”

“A week ago.” Grantaire says. He realizes that he’s shaking slightly. “You slept with them, a week ago, and you didn’t tell me. Right.” He clenches his free fist, trying to steady himself. “And you slept with them—why?”

“I—“ Marius’s breath hitches. “Courfeyrac—they both wanted to, and I thought—“

“No, I get it.” Even his voice is shaking now. Grantaire almost wants to laugh. “I’ll talk to you later, Marius.” He can’t see straight. His nails are digging into his palm.

“Taire, don’t—“ But Grantaire hangs up.

He feels, for a moment, that he can’t move. He’s shaking all over, and he tries to take a few steadying breaths, but they only serve to make him angrier. He stumbles out of the backroom, aware of how wild he must look. Musichetta stares at him, but he goes past her, because they’re there, the Amis are there in the corner, and Grantaire moves without thinking—

He pulls Courfeyrac out of his seat by his collar and punches him in the face.

It takes Jehan, Bahorel, and Combeferre to pull him off Courfeyrac, and then he’s being shoved back, and he doesn’t even know what he’s screaming but Courfeyrac is staring up at him in horror.

“What the fuck is this?” Enjolras is suddenly in his face, close enough for Grantaire to headbutt, and he considers it, briefly. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Enjolras demands.

“Ask him,” Grantaire snarls. “That fucker, ask him. You fucking—“ Bahorel’s grip tightens just as Grantaire lunges again.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras reaches out and places a careful hand on Grantaire’s shoulder. “You have to calm down.” He keeps his gaze trained on Grantaire’s, who, for his part, continues to glare but does calm a bit. “Now. What’s this about?”

Grantaire feels the grip on him loosening, and he clenches and unclenches his fists a few times before speaking. “Your friend,” he says, voice shaky with anger, “is a fucking piece of shit, that’s what this is about.” He looks past Enjolras, to where Courfeyrac is standing, flanked by Feuilly, Bossuet, and Joly. “You ever touch him again—“ Grantaire clenches his fists again, not trusting himself just yet. “Don’t ever go near him again, you fucking—you fucking asshole. Don’t ever touch him again.”

Courfeyrac touches his red cheek, bewildered. “Wha—is this about Marius?” He glances behind Grantaire, where Jehan is standing. “I don’t—what’s it to you who Marius has sex with?”

Grantaire shakes his head. “Did you fucking ask if he wanted to have sex with you?” There’s still a slight tremor in his voice, but it’s as calm as he can get.

Courfeyrac frowns. “Of course he did.” He glances around, as though looking for confirmation. “I—I know he likes me, I know he’s wanted to—oh, god, does he think we’re moving too fast? He didn’t say no…” Courfeyrac trails off, wincing at his words.

“He didn’t say no,” Grantaire repeats. “But did. You. Fucking. Ask.”

“I—“ Courfeyrac glances at Enjolras, who’s watching him with an unreadable expression. “I thought— Maybe I went too fast, I’ll talk to him, all right? But there’s been something there, we’ve been building up to it— Jehan?”

“I guess we should have asked how he felt about polyamory,” Jehan admits. “We both like him a lot, and he’s—well, he’s rather obvious about his feelings, I mean, even Enjolras has noticed the way Marius flirts.” He ignores the look Enjolras throws him.

“Marius wasn’t flirting,” Grantaire says through clenched teeth. “Marius is just that nice. Yeah,” he nods to Enjolras’s incredulous look. “Marius isn’t interested in you two. He’s just. Being. Nice.”

“Why would he have sex with them just to be nice?” Combeferre counters. “If it had just been a misunderstanding, he would’ve cleared it up then. But he didn’t.“

“Oh, I don’t know,” Grantaire answers, bitingly. “Maybe it was because he felt pressured to have sex with them. Maybe it was because he was drunk. Maybe it was because he’s small, and he was outnumbered, and maybe he didn’t think he could say no. Maybe any of those reasons? Maybe all of them?” He glares at Courfeyrac again.

“But—why?” Jehan asks in a small voice. Grantaire deflates suddenly, dropping into a chair.

“It’s what he’s used to. He’s gone on and on about how generous Courfeyrac’s been, letting him stay, not making him pay rent right off—he’s been waiting for that to run out. He thought—he thought it’d be a sort of… repayment.” Grantaire keeps his eyes fixed on his lap, but he sees Courfeyrac drop into the chair opposite.

“He thought… he owed me?” Courfeyrac looks at Grantaire in disbelief, struggling to understand.

“He must’ve assumed—he thought you’d kick him out if he didn’t do what you wanted. And it’s—“ Grantaire sighs. “Look, you have to understand. This is what Marius is used to. He’s never had anyone do nice things for him. Everything’s always come with a price. He’s used to being taken advantage of like that.”

Enjolras slowly sits beside him, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t. “He’s going to be so pissed at me,” Grantaire mutters to himself, “but he was right, you had to find out eventually.” He braces himself. “Eponine, Marius, and I—we met because—we used to work together.” He looks up and firmly meets Enjolras’s gaze. “As prostitutes.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire drinks two beers and opens a third before he feels he’s ready to talk.

Bahorel laughs and Bossuet rolls his eyes and Combeferre shoots him an annoyed look, but Enjolras just holds his gaze and looks as though he suddenly understands. “He’s serious,” Enjolras tells them, still looking at Grantaire. “Aren’t you?”

Grantaire nods. “I know how it sounds, I know I’m not what you’d expect, but yeah. This isn’t the kind of shit I’d make up.”

“I—“ Courfeyrac exchanges a look with Combeferre. “You really are serious. You—you’re a hooker?”

Grantaire shakes his head. “Until recently. Um. It’s a bit of a story. But I was, yes.”

Jehan sinks into the seat beside Courfeyrac, taking his hand absently. Around Grantaire, the rest of the Amis slowly settle back into their seats, and Musichetta leans against the counter.

“Tell us,” Enjolras says, his tone surprisingly gently. “Please.”

Grantaire shakes his head. “It really is a long story, and—and not all of it is mine to tell? I just—I don’t know…”

“We just want to understand,” Combeferre says softly. “We’re your friends, we just need to be able to understand.”

Grantaire laughs, a little bitterly. “Sure you still wanna be friends with this? Not too late to get out, y’know.”

“Oh shut up,” Enjolras snaps. “No one’s running away. There’s no need to be so dramatic about it.” Combeferre smacks him on the arm, but he doesn’t waver.

“Enjolras is trying to say that we like you,” Bahorel interjects, “and we’re still gonna be your friends. No one here gets judged for their past.”

“It’d be easier, for us, if we could better understand where you’re coming from,” Feuilly continues. “We’re out of our element here.”

“And we want to be sensitive,” Combeferre adds, rather pointedly. “But we’re rather ignorant as it is.”

“You don’t have to tell us anything that makes you uncomfortable,” Jehan finishes, his voice soft and soothing. “But if you’re willing to share, we will listen. And it won’t change anything.”

“Fucking—“ Grantaire sighs. “You’re all a load of saps, worse than Marius, I swear. Talking about feelings and shit. Ha.” He shakes his head. “Fine. Fine, if you really want to know the dirty details, I’ll tell you. I have no problem telling you. But—“ He hesitates. “Not yet? I should talk to Eponine and Marius. I’ve—I kind of sold them out, didn’t I? I need to tell them.”

“Will you tell Eponine—“ Combeferre squirms. “Just—the same goes for her. And Marius, obviously. Tell her—tell them—that nothing changes.” Grantaire nods.

“Look,” He says slowly. “I appreciate how cool you’re all being about this, but this is going to change things. Maybe not drastically, but for a while, at least, it’s going to be different. All right? Just, the way you think about us, the way you talk to us. I mean, it’s fine, of course it’s going to be different, but you don’t have to feel weird about it, all right? If it’s too much for you—I mean, it’s expected, I’m used to it, so don’t feel obligated—“

“Let us be the judge of our own feelings,” Enjolras cuts him off with a cold look.

Grantaire matches it. “Fine. Let me talk to Ep and Marius, smooth things over—and then we’ll talk.”

[To Marius: i’m so so sorry if you want to stay somewhere else i understand]  
[To Courfeyrac: y]  
[To Marius: please just let me apologize i feel awful]  
[To Courfeyrac: tlk l8r taire is here]

Marius is angry, though not as angry as Grantaire had expected. When Grantaire tells them, Marius immediately gets up to grab a beer from Eponine’s fridge. He downs half of it in one go, and remains standing next to the fridge, keeping away from where they’re sitting at the kitchen table. Eponine fixes Grantaire with a look.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire says again. “I thought they needed to know where I was coming from. I was fucking pissed at Courf—I still am, Marius, there’s no excuse for what he did—and I needed them to understand why.”

“It wasn’t your place to tell,” Eponine chides him gently, though she doesn’t seem too upset.

“I know. Fuck, I am sorry. But it’s better that they know, isn’t it?”

Eponine shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

“Yeah. Fuck.” Grantaire glances at Marius, who is studiously looking away, clutching his beer tightly. “Enjolras was just starting to like me, too. Or at least, not hate me.”

“He never hated you,” Eponine corrects him; she watches Marius out of the corner of her eye as well. “And I don’t think he’ll hate you for this either. I mean, I still think he’s an asshole, but, y’know, for other reasons.”

Grantaire laughs. “Are you ever gonna give him a chance, E?”

“I’m just saying you can do better.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, since I went and ruined my chances,” Grantaire mutters, “but I appreciate the sentiment.” He pauses to glance worriedly at Marius again, before changing the subject. “Are you going to that rally of theirs? I know Combeferre wants you to go.” He gives her a knowing grin. She swats at him.

“I think so. I’m going to talk to him about it tomorrow, but yeah, I think I’ll go. Why not, it’s important, right?”

“Guess so. Don’t know that a rally’s going to change much, but I guess it’s the thought that counts.”

Eponine rolls her eyes. “Do you have to be so pessimistic? These are your rights we’re fighting for.”

Grantaire shrugs. “I’m just being realistic. It’s a nice idea, but it isn’t going to change much. No one pays attention to these things.”

“Don’t tell Enjolras that,” Eponine warns him.

“I can’t go anyway,” Grantaire says. “Gotta work. So I think I’ll manage not to piss him off. Too much, anyway.”

Eponine hesitates for a moment. She gives Grantaire a look, and he understands and nods without a word. She bites her lip, and then tentatively says, “Marius?”

He still hasn’t moved, still isn’t looking their way, and still grasps the beer like a lifeline. He stiffens a bit but doesn’t respond.

“Marius, please? Everything’s going to work out. It’s going to be fine.” Eponine waits, but gets nothing. “Marius,” she says again, a little sharply.

He faces them, finally, and the expression on his face makes Grantaire divert his eyes. He can’t handle seeing Marius upset, and he feels a small pang of guilt. “It really is going to be fine,” Eponine continues. “Courfeyrac fucked up, he really did, but he does care about you and he isn’t going to think badly of you.”

“Courf isn’t going to kick you out,” Grantaire tells him quietly. “You’re still safe.”

Marius shakes his head. “I just—I can’t deal with this right now,” he says softly.

They don’t bother trying to stop him from leaving, they know better than that, but Eponine says, “call Jehan, at least,” and he doesn’t respond but she knows he will.

[To Grantaire: we’re all here doing last min work for the rally, you’re welcome to join]  
[To Grantaire: eponine’s here too]  
[To Enjolras: yeah ok might as well get this over with]

Enjolras’s apartment is as noisy and excitable as it was the night of the party. Grantaire thinks about turning around and running back out, but Enjolras is looking at him almost kindly for once, and so he reluctantly joins the crew crowded around the kitchen table. They greet him excitedly, a few of them perhaps a little tipsy. Grantaire spies a cluster of empty beer bottles near the sink, and he cracks a grin as he sits beside Bahorel.

“I thought this was a work party,” he says to Enjolras, who sits on his other side. “Y’know, serious business and all.”

“All the important stuff’s already been taken care of,” Enjolras tells him. “We just had to iron out a few details.”

“Don’t let him fool you, the whole thing was just an excuse to get together and dick around,” Eponine says from the other end of the table. She smiles sweetly when Enjolras shoots her a look.

“Any beer left?” Grantaire asks. “I’m gonna need one or five if we’re actually doing this now.” Enjolras nods and stands. “I can get it,” Grantaire protests weakly, but Enjolras ignores him. Grantaire takes the opportunity to look around the table. All the Amis are present, except one.

“Jehan’s at work,” Combeferre informs him. “He and Marius are having a talk, apparently. He keeps periodically texting us exclamation points.”

“Plus one sad face,” Feuilly says.

“And one actual text that just said ‘poor baby,’” Joly adds.

Grantaire raises an eyebrow, and then reaches to take the beer Enjolras offers him. “Thanks.”

He drinks two beers and opens a third before he feels he’s ready to talk. Eponine just nods at him, and Enjolras looks at him expectantly, and somehow, somehow, he manages to start.

“So,” he says, fixing his gaze on beer bottle number three, “it’s—I mean, it’s a pretty standard story, I think. My dad was an alcoholic so there wasn’t—I didn’t really have a home life. So I left when I was eighteen.” He glances up at Eponine. She watches him intently, even though she knows the story as though it’s her own. “I sort of—fell into it, I guess. But it made good money, you know, especially for someone who didn’t exactly… have any. And I liked it.” He smirks at Enjolras, who looks back unwaveringly.

“My story’s pretty similar, I guess,” Eponine says. “Bit of a stereotype. Shitty parents. I got into it a little younger, um, through my parents actually. I was sixteen.” She ignores Courfeyrac’s “what!” and Bossuet’s sharp gasp. “My parents ran a lot of shady businesses, and um—well, some of their customers were interested in other things, you know, and I stepped up, to support the family, at first. Um.”

She fidgets, but doesn’t stop. “And two years later, my sister turned sixteen and started getting into it, and—well, it took a bad turn. Long story. But I helped her get away from it, moved her away. And then my baby brother was taken in by social services, and that was it. No more family obligation, so I got away from them, but—kept doing my thing.” She gives Enjolras a look. “I liked it. I’ll admit I didn’t start out in the greatest circumstances, but once I was on my own, it was fine. Better.”

“Wait, so, your bother and sister—“ Courfeyrac asks.

“Azelma’s living with some friends,” Grantaire says. “When Montparnasse got involved, we thought she was better off away from here. From him.”

“Gavroche’s been bouncing around foster parents,” Eponine adds. “I lost track of him for a while, but—“ She smiles. “We found him again.”

“And Marius?” Enjolras asks quietly.

“Lived with his grandfather until he was sixteen. Some shit went down, he couldn’t stay there anymore— It’s his story to tell,” Grantaire says firmly. “But he doesn’t like to talk about it. I don’t even know all of it.”

“Taire found him sleeping on a park bench,” Eponine says. “Marius found out what he did for a living, wanted to get involved. It was entirely his own decision.”

“Uh huh.” Enjolras looks pensive. His gaze flickers between Eponine and Grantaire. “And this Montparnasse person?”

Grantaire sighs, and exchanges a tired look with Eponine. “I mean, when it comes down to it, he’s our pimp. Or was, anyway. But he’s, uh, he’s bad news. He’s the reason we’ve stopped.”

“He’s controlling,” Eponine says. “He has specific clients, and he seeks out people who match his clients’ preferences. He’d give us specific things to do. Every aspect of it was controlled, and he ended up with most of the money, and—“

“—and then he started getting violent,” Grantaire finishes. “And that was it. We decided it was time to move on.”

Combeferre tilts his head, thinking. “That day you came to work with a black eye—“

“Montparnasse,” Grantaire confirms.

“So you’re out now,” Bahorel asks, “right? You’re done with this guy?”

“Almost. We’ve all got other jobs now, and Marius and I both have places to live, places he doesn’t know about. Which is good. But Eponine still lives in an apartment he owns, so he still—owns her.” Grantaire looks apologetic for his word choice, but Eponine just nods her agreement.

“He’s still looking for them,” Eponine says, “but he’s never found Azelma, and he won’t find them either. So long as they stop coming to the apartment.” She gives Grantaire a pointed glare. He grins cheekily.

“Got to make sure you’re in one piece, don’t I?” He says it lightly, but they both know how serious he is. Enjolras looks alarmed.

“So you’re still living in his property?” He asks. “You’re—he still knows where you are? Do you still work for him?”

Eponine nods. “Yeah, I can’t exactly quit until I move out,” she says, feigning nonchalance. “It’s fine, once I’ve got enough money saved up—“

“You can live here,” Enjolras cuts her off, voice firm. She opens her mouth to object, but he shakes his head. “I’m not taking no for an answer. If I’d known sooner—look, I’ve got a spare bedroom, there’s plenty of space here for two. I don’t mind having a roommate. And you’d be surprised how cheap the rent is.”

Grantaire watches Enjolras, stunned. He turns to see Eponine with a matching expression. “I—Enjolras—“ Her voice shakes a little.

“I’m not going to argue with you. Just tell me when you’re ready to move in, I’ll make sure I’m here.” Enjolras’s tone is unyielding, and Eponine, wisely, does not try to argue.

“Let us know when,” Bahorel adds. “We’ll help out.”

Eponine buries her face in her hands, and before Grantaire realizes what he’s doing, he reaches out and grips Enjolras’s hand.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I wish you were angry,” Jehan says softly. “You deserve to be angry.”

Marius enters the bookstore clutching a Styrofoam box, looking a bit like he had on his first day of work. Jehan puts down his pen to smile tentatively.

“Hi,” Marius says, a little breathless. He stops at the counter and places the box directly in front of Jehan. “I brought you lunch,” Marius explains. “I figured you might forget today. It’s just a panini,” he says as Jehan carefully pries the lid open, “but it’s pretty good.” Marius looks at him hopefully, and something tugs at Jehan’s heart.

“Thank you,” he says, smiling. “You’re right, I did forget to bring food.” He sets the box aside, noticing Marius’s gaze following it. “I promise to eat it later. You can check, even.”

Marius laughs. “I trust you,” he says casually; he moves around the counter as he speaks and doesn’t notice the falter in Jehan’s smile. “I’ll remind you anyway,” Marius continues, settling in beside Jehan and pulling out a book.

Jehan watches him for a while as he reads. Marius seems content to sit in comfortable silence, as they often do, and he stays as close to Jehan as he normally does. All of his actions are normal, in fact, and Jehan seems to be the more uncomfortable of the two at the moment.

“Marius,” Jehan says cautiously. Marius is so at ease that he almost doesn’t want to bring it up. But he has to, he knows he has to. “Are you okay?”

An indecipherable look flashes across Marius’s features, passing too briefly for Jehan to deconstruct it. “Of course I am,” Marius says easily. “I’m fine.”

He goes back to his book, and Jehan could let the subject drop there, but he presses on. “You do know Grantaire told us everything, don’t you?” Jehan asks delicately. “I—he told us you were a prostitute.” Marius stiffens but keeps his eyes on his book.

“Were,” he says, “would be the key word there. I’m not anymore.” He glances at Jehan. “What, does it make you uncomfortable? Is this the ‘we can no longer be friends’ speech? You can just nod, I don’t need to hear the entire thing.”

Jehan frowns. “Stop it. I’m not uncomfortable, and I want to be your friend. Just stop.” Marius sighs, sounding defeated. “I just want to make sure everything is okay,” Jehan continues. “You know this won’t change anything between us, right?”

Marius laughs shortly. “Right. Yeah.”

“I mean it. And—“ Jehan hesitates. “There’s the—other thing. We need to talk about it, Marius, I feel terrible—“

Marius cuts him off. “You don’t have to do this. Really. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine—“

“It was a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding! Are you—“ Jehan takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Marius, I’m trying to apologize. All right? Just let me apologize. Because I shouldn’t have done that, Courf and I, we should never have—you didn’t deserve that, and I’m so sorry we pressured you, and—we both thought it was what you wanted, we were too drunk to even ask, we should never have put you in that position—“

Jehan realizes he’s begun to ramble, and pauses to watch Marius, whose expression remains unreadable. Marius sighs.

“All right. Apology accepted, then. Can we just move on? Please?”

Jehan looks at him sadly. Marius turns away, focusing his gaze on his book. “I wish you were angry,” Jehan says softly. “You deserve to be angry.”

Marius shakes his head. “I don’t have the energy for that,” he replies casually. “And I’d be a lot happier if you and Courf would stop apologizing. There’s only so much I can take.”

“We’ll stop, if that’s what you want. But I just—I want you to understand. I don’t want you to be afraid to tell us when we’re wrong. I don’t want you to be afraid to tell us no. Marius?” Marius obliges, and meets Jehan’s gaze again. “We care about you, and we want you to feel safe. All right? Part of that is being able to say no. You—I want you to be comfortable with us, I want you to tell us when we’ve overstepped. Because Courf and I can be—well, we can be a bit intense, I suppose. But your happiness is important to us, too. Okay?”

Marius blinks rapidly, but Jehan can see his eyes watering, and he feels his breath catch in his throat. “Can I hug you?” Jehan asks, and after a beat Marius nods with a shy smile, and Jehan draws him in tightly. “Oh, you sweet thing,” Jehan murmurs, and Marius laughs and clutches Jehan just as firmly.

They break apart when the door opens and a family wanders into the bookstore. The two children hurry to the kid’s section while their father pauses by the history shelf. Their mother approaches the front desk with a polite smile, looking uncertainly between the two boys. Marius straightens quickly.

“Hi, how can I help you?” he asks cheerfully. The woman relaxes visibly.

“I put an order in,” she begins, and Marius nods.

“Sure, what’s your last name?” He leans down to the hold shelf they keep beneath the counter. The woman gives her name, and he quickly finds her order. He surfaces and hands her the book. “Would you like to pay now, or will you be adding to the order?”

The woman laughs. “I’d best wait and see what my kids come back with,” she says, “and pay all at once.”

“Of course,” Marius says, and when the woman turns to locate her children, he glances at Jehan. “You should go eat,” he murmurs, and Jehan nods in agreement.

“We’ll finish this later then.” Jehan hesitantly puts a hand on Marius’s arm, and when Marius smiles at him, he squeezes gently.

They don’t get to talk properly for some time. Though they aren’t extremely busy, customers come in steadily, and it isn’t the right setting for a heart-to-heart. They work as they always do, though Jehan catches himself watching Marius more than he usually does. He knows Marius can sense him watching, but he doesn’t stop, and Marius doesn’t react, and everything is fine. Marius does check that he’s eaten, and Jehan thanks him again for the food, and Marius nudges him, and it’s all very normal.

Marius pulls out his phone as a customer leaves with his purchase. The phone is lit up, and Jehan can see a name on the screen, an incoming text message.

“Cosette?” Jehan asks. Marius blushes, and Jehan has his answer. “Girlfriend?” he guesses. Marius shakes his head.

“No, we’ve—I asked her out a while back, and we’ve been texting a bit, but we haven’t, um, really hung out or—or anything, really.” He blushes even more deeply.

Jehan smacks him playfully. “Why not? You obviously like her. What does her text say?”

Marius opens it, angling his phone so that Jehan can’t see. “Uh, she’s invited me to a poetry reading tonight.”

“She likes poetry?” Jehan’s eyes widen. “Marry her. Or let me marry her. Oh, you have to go!” Jehan grips one of Marius’s hands in his. “Go out with her, go on.”

Marius shakes his head. “I can’t. Anyway, I don’t even know anything about poetry, we probably have nothing in common—“

“So she’ll teach you about poetry. Courf didn’t really like poetry before we met, did you know that? But I gave him a few I thought were more his style, and dragged him to some readings… Well, he puts up with it, even if he doesn’t like it. He even gives me poems sometimes.” Jehan smiles fondly, momentarily distracted by his thoughts. “Anyway.” He shakes his head and brings himself back to the present. “You should go.”

“I don’t know. I can’t.”

“And why not?”

Marius huffs a sigh. “Because! Because—she’s too good for me. She’s really wonderful and I’m—“

“Also wonderful,” Jehan supplies. Marius gives him a stern look.

“A former prostitute,” Marius corrects him. “And poor. And—fuck, I mean, I didn’t even finish school, I mean we’re probably as opposite as you can get, I doubt we’ve got anything in common… She’ll realize soon enough that she can do better, and I just don’t want waste her time.”

“That’s ridiculous. Marius…” Jehan sighs. “All right, you were a prostitute, but you aren’t anymore, and it doesn’t matter anyway. If she’s as wonderful as you say she is, she won’t care whether you have money. Or whether you’ve finished school. You’re smart, Marius, you don’t need to go to uni to prove it.” Jehan pauses, thinking. “Do you—did you want to go to university?” he asks softly.

Marius looks away. “I—yes. I’d always planned to go. But it’s not for me anymore.”

Jehan studies him carefully, and, seeing the stubborn expression, decides to let the subject drop for the time being. “Well, you won’t know whether you get on with her until you actually give it a chance,” he says firmly. “She’d be lucky to have you. You’re lovely, you are.” Marius ducks his head, embarrassed. “Text her back!” Jehan insists. “Text her now, tell her yes, of course you’ll go, you’d love to go.”

Marius deflates a bit before sitting up again, a smile spreading across his face. He grabs his phone and quickly types out a message. The instant he sets the phone down again, his eyes widen. “Oh god, what have I done?”

“Got yourself a date with a wonderful girl who loves poetry,” Jehan supplies. Marius’s phone lights up again. “What’s it say?”

“She wants to meet in front of the park and then walk over.” Marius looks up at Jehan. “She sent a smiley face.”

Jehan claps his hands together. “Oh! I’m so excited for you. It’ll be great, really.” Marius looks uncertain. “Look, if it’s truly disastrous, you can text one of us and we’ll do the whole fake emergency call thing. But you ought to give it a shot, at least, you seem to really like her, and you deserve to be happy, you really do.”

Marius squints at him. “Are you just pushing this because you feel guilty?”

“I’m pushing this because I’ve never seen you blush so much,” Jehan says gently. “And because I don’t like hearing you talk about yourself that way. And only a bit because I feel guilty. I don’t know how to make that right, Marius, but I will eventually.”

“You don’t have to,” Marius protests softly.

“Of course I do. You ought to hate me. You should be making us earn your trust back.”

Marius thinks for a moment. “You could start by recommending some poetry for me,” he says finally. “I don’t want to go in blind.”

“I—“ Jehan gives him a sad smile. “Sure, Marius. Have you heard of Neruda?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think your definition of success is slightly different from mine,” Grantaire grumbles.

Marius finds them that morning, as usual, in the café. Courfeyrac, Jehan, and Combeferre are in their normal corner; Grantaire and Musichetta are behind the counter, tending to the line of customers. Marius gives Grantaire a wave, and goes straight to Jehan.

“Hey, Marius,” Combeferre greets him, raising an eyebrow when Marius bends down awkwardly to throw his arms around Jehan, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“You are the best,” Marius tells him, completely sincere. “You really are, oh my god, Jehan!”

Jehan laughs and twists around in Marius’s grip. “Tell me everything,” he says. “Come on, sit down and tell me everything! How was it?”

Marius lets go of Jehan to pull up a chair from one of the neighboring tables, and tucks himself in between Jehan and Combeferre. “It was—she’s so amazing, she’s wonderful, we had such a lovely time—“

“Did you like the poetry?” Jehan asks. Marius shrugs.

“For a bit. Um, I got bored of it after a while,” he admits, “but Cosette seemed to like it. And she said she has a couple of books for me, so.” He shrugs. “It—it was really nice. I like her a lot.” He whispers the last, blushing a bit, and Jehan nearly coos.

“Wait, fill me in here,” Courfeyrac says, looking affronted. “What’s all this? You had a date?”

Marius nods. “I thought Jehan would’ve told you, didn’t you stay at his last night?” The grin on Courfeyrac’s face tells him everything. “Right, don’t tell me those details please,” Marius begs, only half-joking. Courfeyrac is often too open with the details of his sex life. “Yes, Cosette took me to a poetry reading last night.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Courfeyrac asks, still feigning hurt feelings. “I would have texted you throughout!” Combeferre snorts.

Marius fixes him with a look. “It was rather last minute, anyway,” he says evenly. “We went walking, after. I would have liked to take her for dinner, or something nice, but—“ He looks down. “Well. We went through the park, and she seemed to have a good time, and I don’t think she minded that I didn’t know any poetry.”

Jehan smiles gently. “I’m sure she had a wonderful time. You’re lovely, I keep telling you.”

Musichetta, now free of customers, comes around from behind the counter. “Hate to break this up,” she says, “but we need to get going. Can we take this on the road?”

Combeferre glances at his watch and stands. “Yeah, we’d better. Two cars, I think, yeah? I’ve got to pick up Enjolras anyway.”

Musichetta nods. “I can drive,” she offers. Marius and Jehan stand as well, and Jehan gently tugs Courfeyrac up.

“You’re going to the rally, too, Marius?” Grantaire asks from behind the counter. Marius grins.

“Of course,” he says brightly. “It’s a good cause, isn’t it? Eponine’s going.”

Courfeyrac nudges Combeferre, who shoots him an annoyed look. “I’m heading out, then,” Combeferre says. “See you all there?”

“I’ll come with you,” Marius says, waving quickly at Grantaire before following Combeferre out of the café.

“You two ready?” Musichetta asks, and Jehan nods while Courfeyrac offers a grin. “I’ll stop by before close,” she tells Grantaire. “Be good.” He salutes her dutifully.

“Don’t let Marius wander off,” Grantaire advises them. “Don’t let Eponine get near any police, either. Just trust me,” he adds, seeing Courfeyrac’s confused look. “Good luck, I guess? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Musichetta just laughs and leads the couple out, blowing Grantaire a kiss as she leaves.

Grantaire’s left with a handful of customers, and a relatively quiet afternoon ahead of him. After a quick internal debate, he shoots off a text to Enjolras, wishing him luck with the rally. A few minutes later, Enjolras responds with a simple “thanks.” Grantaire knows that Enjolras is rather intense about his causes, and doesn’t read too much into the short reply.

He wonders, briefly, whether he should have gone. Sometimes Grantaire feels mildly guilty that he doesn’t get more involved with the equal rights movement, considering his own rights are at stake. He can’t find it in himself to care about getting married, but there are other aspects of the cause that he feels somewhat strongly about, and sometimes he thinks he should be more outspoken about such things.

But he’s never been optimistic the way Marius is, nor as passionate as Enjolras seems to be, and he’d probably feel out of place at the rally, he muses. Marius texts him a few photos as the rally gets started: Enjolras looking intense mid-speech, Jehan holding a Free Cece poster, Bahorel and Combeferre standing shoulder to shoulder, shouting. There seems to be a decent crowd, and Grantaire feels a small sense of pride at what Enjolras and the Amis are doing. Although political activism isn’t quite his cup of tea, it’s still pretty cool, he thinks.

Marius stops texting after a while, and the rest of Grantaire’s shift passes rather slowly. There’s a brief rush that has him scrambling and cursing Musichetta for leaving him alone, but he comes out of it without spilling anything, and only has to remake a drink once, so he calls it a win. When the crowd dies down, he checks his phone for the time, and slowly begins the closing process. By the time the last customer leaves, it’s five to close, and Musichetta still isn’t there.

Grantaire’s only mildly worried. He finishes closing and postpones locking up for a while, going over all the tables a second time. When he’s finished and she still hasn’t shown, he frowns and pulls out his phone. No missed calls, no text messages. He isn’t worried, he tells himself as he calls Musichetta. He curses softly when she doesn’t answer, and quickly calls Eponine, then Marius, and then, desperately, calls Enjolras.

No one answers or calls back, and the radio silence is starting to get to him. Grantaire debates whether to go to Enjolras’s or Combeferre’s, when Musichetta calls.

“About time,” Grantaire grumbles, as though he hadn’t been momentarily panicking. “Hey, Chetta.”

“Before you ask, everyone’s fine,” she says, and Grantaire is instantly tense in spite of her reassuring tone. “It got a little crazy,” she continues, oblivious, “but we’re used to that sort of thing, so everyone knew what to do, everyone made it out just fine.”

Grantaire sinks into a chair. “What happened?” he asks.

“You can come to Enjolras’s, if you’d like to see for yourself,” she says. “There was a bit of a fight, but it wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t a full riot, so I’d say it went better than expected.”

“It wasn’t a riot,” Grantaire repeats faintly. “You’ve—have there been riots?”

“Yeah, a few times.” She sounds far too casual about it. “It gets pretty ugly when the cops are involved, but they didn’t really this time, so it wasn’t bad. Really, come to Enjolras’s.” She hesitates. “He asked for you.”

Grantaire perks up slightly. “He did?”

“To be fair, I’m not sure he knows what he’s saying,” Musichetta says, “but yeah. C’mon, don’t keep him waiting.”

Grantaire hangs up quickly, and twenty minutes later he’s rushing into Enjolras’s apartment. Musichetta is standing near the door, Bossuet beside her, and she greets him with a smile.

“Combeferre and Joly are cleaning him up in the bathroom,” she informs him, sounding far too casual. “They’ll be out in a minute. You can sit, if you like.” She gestures over to where Eponine is sitting on the couch, her phone in hand.

“Eponine,” Grantaire says, relieved, as he drops down beside her. “You’re okay?”

She nudges him. “Fine. I was with Feuilly and Bahorel the entire time. Enjolras is the only one who got hurt, anyway.”

“What happened?”

“Someone threw something,” Bossuet says. “I couldn’t see, might’ve been a rock for all I know, but it got Enjolras right in the head.”

“There was a traditional marriage group there,” Musichetta adds. “Counter-protesting, I guess. They were really vicious; the police went after them instead of us when the fighting started, so we managed to leave before it got too out of hand.”

Joly comes out of the bathroom then, wiping his hands on a dirtied towel. Grantaire very carefully does not look at the stains, and instead nods at Joly in greeting.

“You made it,” Joly says, grinning. “He’ll be glad to see you, I think. He’s still a little out of it,” he informs the room, “but he’s fine. Slight concussion. He’s stopped bleeding, at least.”

Grantaire swears softly, and Eponine takes his hand.

Combeferre leads Enjolras out of the bathroom then, and Grantaire and Eponine both jump off the couch to make room. Enjolras looks dazed, one hand pressing a reddish cloth to his temple while the other grips Combeferre’s arm for balance. He drops onto the couch, pulling Combeferre down with him, and glances around the room, wide eyes landing on Grantaire.

“You’re here,” he says; he sounds almost childlike, and Grantaire is torn between amusement and worry.

“Hi,” Grantaire offers, moving closer rather cautiously. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. I’m fine. Really,” he adds when Combeferre snorts.

“You’re lucky we haven’t dragged your ass to the hospital,” Combeferre snaps. “There’s still time, you know.”

Enjolras shoots him an annoyed look, though its power is rather diminished by the cloth to his head. “It’s not bleeding anymore,” he argues, and Combeferre just sighs and doesn’t bother responding.

“Are you—“ Grantaire hesitates, and then carefully crouches in front of Enjolras. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” Enjolras says, voice firm. “Sit with me.” Grantaire blinks in surprise, smiles, and complies, sliding in on Enjolras’s other side. After a moment, Enjolras takes Grantaire’s hand in his.

“So,” Grantaire says, after a few moments of silence, “what happened to everyone else?”

“Feuilly and Bahorel left a few minutes before you got here,” Eponine tells him. “Courfeyrac and Marius went straight back to their place, and Jehan went with them.”

“And he—I mean, Marius was okay?” Grantaire asks, a note of concern in his voice. “Just, you know how he gets sometimes…” Grantaire trails off, but Eponine nods, because she does know.

“He was fine,” she says. “Jehan was with him during the rally, he was looking out for him the whole time.”

“Jehan?” Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “That doesn’t exactly make me feel better.”

“Well it should,” Combeferre counters. “Jehan’s fucking scary.”

Grantaire still looks skeptical, but he doesn’t argue. “I guess.” He shakes his head.

“We did pretty well this time,” Combeferre says. “Only one injury, no one in the hospital, no one got arrested.” He shares a look with Joly. “I’d call this one a success.”

“I think your definition of success is slightly different from mine,” Grantaire grumbles, and Enjolras squeezes his hand.

“I’m gonna head out,” Eponine says, momentarily glancing up from her phone to look at Grantaire. “You’re good here?” He nods.

“Yeah, I’ll stick around.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” Combeferre offers, “if Enjolras thinks he can manage without me.” He’s only half-teasing, his expression still very concerned as he examines Enjolras.

“We should go, too,” Musichetta says uncertainly. “Unless—you want us to stay?”

“I’ll stay with him,” Grantaire says, just as Enjolras waves the hand still holding the cloth and insists that he’s fine.

“Really, Ferre,” Enjolras says, “I’ve had worse. I think I can manage.”

Combeferre seems unconvinced. “Grantaire,” he says, still looking at Enjolras sternly, “you’ll call if you need anything? If anything happens—“

Grantaire nods. “Don’t worry about us,” he says carefully. “I can handle him. I’ve babysat before.”

Enjolras huffs at him and feigns annoyance, and Eponine laughs at the sight of Enjolras reacting immaturely. Combeferre hisses at her to “stop encouraging him,” but the expression on his face is fond.

Musichetta leads Bossuet and Joly out, waving goodbye as they go; Eponine kisses Grantaire on the cheek, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, does the same to Enjolras. Combeferre just gives Enjolras a stern look.

“Grantaire, I’m trusting you,” he says firmly. “Enjolras, behave.” He looks as though he wants to continue lecturing the injured party, but Eponine slips a hand into his and tugs him out the door.

“You should probably lie down or something, right?” Grantaire asks once they’re alone. “How is it, does it hurt? Do you need anything?”

Enjolras smiles. “I’m fine, it really isn’t so bad. I’m okay just sitting here.”

Grantaire nods, thinking. “Sure. Well, I’m going to make you some tea, because you look like you need it, honestly. Actually, you look like you need stronger, but even I know better, so—“ He hops up, untangling his hand from Enjolras’s. “Tea, it is.”

He starts for the kitchen, but Enjolras reaches out suddenly and grabs his hand. Grantaire turns, and Enjolras tosses the cloth aside so that he can grab Grantaire’s collar and tug him back down, kissing him firmly.

It’s awkward; Grantaire is bent at an odd angle and he’s so surprised that he forgets to respond at first, but he does, eventually, and it’s nice, and Grantaire’s grinning when they break apart.

Enjolras looks a little sheepish. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “I just—“

“I know.” Grantaire kisses him again, briefly, before straightening. “You’re injured,” he reminds him sternly. “Sit still and let me make you some tea, would you?”

Enjolras lets him go this time, and Grantaire goes to busy himself with the kettle, and neither can stop smiling.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marius shows up with a handle of tequila, and Grantaire rolls his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for mentions of rape and mention of BDSM.

“If you don’t tell me what’s going on with you today, I’m going to fucking lose it,” Eponine says matter-of-factly, not bothering to even look up as she wipes down a table.

Grantaire pauses behind the counter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says carefully. “And don’t swear at work.”

Eponine finishes the table and straightens, smirking as she looks over at Grantaire. “Please. There’s no one here.” She moves on to another table, now watching Grantaire as she cleans. “What’s with the look?”

“What look?”

“You know, you owe me details,” Eponine says. “I let you and Enjolras have the place the other night, I think that was pretty damn nice of me, wasn’t it? And I haven’t seen either of you since then, and it’s been, what, two days? And now you’ve got that stupid look on your face—“

“There’s no look,” Grantaire mutters, but he grins in spite of himself. “Fine, honestly, there’s not much to tell, we’ve just—we’ve been spending more time together. You know.”

“I don’t know, you ass, you haven’t told me shit.” Eponine dumps the cleaning rag into a bucket of soapy water, and wrings it out. “C’mon, share. New developments, I take it?”

Grantaire rolls his eyes. “I’m not Marius, E, and just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I wanna have ‘girl chats’ or whatever. Jesus. If you really must know, yes, we’re—I dunno, we’re like a couple, I guess. Okay? I spent the night when he was injured, Combeferre must’ve told you that?” Eponine nods.

“In passing,” she says. “Only because he was worried about Enjolras, you know how they are.”

“Well. Yeah. We’ve just spent the last couple days together. Um. He spent the night, but it wasn’t—he fell asleep at my place, it wasn’t really anything.” Grantaire smiles sheepishly. “I guess we’re dating? Um. He kissed me the other night, but he was concussed, y’know, he was kinda out of it. But he was fine the next day and then he kissed me again, so I guess that’s something.”

Eponine smiles widely now, clasping her hands together. “I fuckin’ knew it,” she murmurs. “Fuck yes. Oh, I’m so happy for you, I really am.”

Grantaire laughs. “Thanks. I dunno, it isn’t really anything yet. But I like him, you know I’ve liked him. I just thought he wouldn’t—want me.” He admits this last part softly, as though hoping she won’t hear. But she does, and she frowns.

“Why wouldn’t he?” she demands, crossing her arms. Grantaire sighs and waves a hand dismissively.

“I don’t know. We got into a few fights, you know, and he always looks like I’m annoying him? And it’s been better lately, we started getting to know each other and I understand him a little better now, but still. I feel like eventually he’s going to get over it and look for something better.” Grantaire puts a hand up, cutting Eponine off before she’s even opened her mouth. “And before you say anything, I know I’m being stupid, but just let me have this irrational fear, all right? I’m not going to do anything dumb, I’m not Marius.”

“You keep saying that,” Eponine points out, giggling a little. “I think by now I can tell the difference.”

But Eponine lets up after that, and they pass the time bantering. It’s not their busiest time of the day, but they do get some customers, and Musichetta drops in briefly, and Bahorel as well, but for the most part it’s just Eponine and Grantaire, and it feels a bit like the old days.

Later, they’re a little busier, a few tables filled and a small line of customers keeping them busy. Combeferre’s tucked in the corner with Jehan, but they’re each reading quietly, and anyway the café is too busy for Grantaire or Eponine to check in. It’s all fairly normal, working at the regular pace, so Grantaire doesn’t look up when a new customer walks in, but he certainly stops when Eponine suddenly—very suddenly—races into the backroom.

She slams the door behind her with a bit of force, so even Combeferre and Jehan glance around worriedly, even the woman in the front of the line looks concerned, and when Grantaire excuses himself for a moment, the woman just nods and smiles.

Grantaire pokes his head around the door of the backroom; Eponine’s flat against the opposite wall, her eyes wide. She’s wringing her hands together and she’s trembling slightly, and Grantaire feels a sudden sense of urgency.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Eponine shakes her head, and takes a few moments to pull herself together before speaking. “Um,” she says, voice shaking. “That customer—that guy out there—I —he was one of Montparnasse’s—“

Grantaire draws a breath. “Shit.” He thinks for a moment, and then sighs heavily. “Stay here until I come get you.” Eponine nods, looking simultaneously scared and grateful.

He forces himself to act normal and to be polite to the man, but he finds it difficult to look him in the eye. Grantaire’s sure his smile looks more like a grimace, but the man doesn’t seem to think anything of it. He thanks Grantaire, takes his coffee, purchases a newspaper, and leaves. The moment the man is gone, Grantaire feels the tension leaving, and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The man had looked so ordinary, looked as though he was someone’s father, like perhaps he was on his way to his son’s football game.

Grantaire feels sick.

He waits another five minutes to be sure the man is truly gone, before hurrying into the backroom and immediately reaching for Eponine. She grips him tightly and allows herself to be pulled into a hug. She’s still shaking.

“I’m sorry,” she says after a while. “I didn’t mean to freak out like that. Just—“

“I know,” Grantaire says.

“I didn’t expect to see him,” Eponine whispers. “I thought it’d be a clean break, I didn’t expect him to fucking show up here, I didn’t—“

“I know,” Grantaire says again. “You don’t need to apologize. I would’ve reacted the same way.” He pulls back to look at her, but doesn’t let go. “If you want to take off—“

Eponine shakes her head. “No,” she says firmly. “No, I’m fine. Really.”

Grantaire nods reluctantly, and finally releases her. “Fine. But you and Marius are coming to my place tonight, and we’re getting drunk. Non-negotiable.” He grins. “You were right; we haven’t seen much of each other lately, and we need some family time. And I could really use a drink right now.”

Eponine laughs, a little shakily, but it’s a laugh all the same. “I hear you,” she agrees. “I’ll text Marius. You should get back out there; I’m right behind you.”

Grantaire looks for a moment as though he might hug her again, but then he relaxes into a smile and turns to leave.

[To Marius: taire’s tonight. bring something strong.]  
[To Eponine: hav plans w j sry]  
[To Marius: cancel. mandatory family night.]  
[To Eponine: evrythng ok????]  
[To Eponine: ill b there but plz tell me if sumthngs wrng??]  
[To Marius: see you tonight. talk then.]

Marius shows up with a handle of tequila, and Grantaire rolls his eyes but sets it next to the already-opened bottle of whiskey anyway.

They talk and they drink, and Marius plays some Beyonce, and he and Eponine dance, and it’s so like old times that Grantaire feels his heart clench as he watches them. It’s a strange rush of emotion: he’s sad and affectionate all at once, and he blames the alcohol as he pours himself another drink.

Marius drops heavily into the seat beside Grantaire. He’s several drinks in, unsteady on his feet and looking very flushed, but he reaches for another shot anyway. Grantaire isn’t sure whether to be proud or guilty of his bad influence.

“So what’s all this about?” Marius asks. “I mean, I love you. I do.” He throws an arm around Grantaire, as if to prove that he truly does love them. “But I had plans tonight y’know. So I assume something happened?”

Eponine closes her eyes and throws back her drink. Marius blinks in surprise.

“So something did happen,” Marius says. “Something bad.”

“It’s nothing so terrible,” Eponine says. Her eyes are watering from the alcohol. “An old client came into the café today. He didn’t see me. It was fine.”

“It was unexpected,” Grantaire counters. “You had every right to be upset.”

“What happened?” Marius asks. “Did he say anything to you?” Eponine shakes her head.

“Nah, I ducked out until he left,” she says. “Nothing happened. It was fine, just a scare.”

“Hopefully it was a one-time thing, huh?” Marius says. He’s still got his arm around Grantaire, and he’s beginning to lean heavily. Grantaire would make fun of him for it, but he’s at the same level of drunkenness, so he mostly just finds it endearing. “I mean, he’s never come in before, right? Maybe—maybe he doesn’t come in again?”

He reaches for another shot. Grantaire considers stopping him, and instead pours himself one as well. He glances at Eponine; she nods, and he pours a third shot.

Grantaire notices, after a moment, that Marius has removed his arm and is leaning away. Grantaire glances over; Marius is texting, his thumbs moving rather clumsily across the phone.

“Who’re you talking to?” Grantaire demands.

“Jehan,” Marius answers, not looking up from the screen. “He’s just checking in.” Marius sighs. “He’s so nice. He really helped me with Cosette, y’know? Dunno how I would’ve managed that one on my own.”

Grantaire presses his lips together, his mouth drawing into a thin line. Eponine gives him a stern look, but he shakes his head because he can’t stop himself.

“Yeah, Jehan’s nice,” he mutters, “right up until he rapes you.”

There’s silence. Grantaire knows, immediately, he’ll feel some sort of regret in the morning. But now, several drinks in, still angry, Grantaire can’t find it in himself to care.

“Taire,” Eponine says softly, pleading. He looks away, and meets Marius’s gaze.

Grantaire expects anger from Marius, or perhaps discomfort, or even embarrassment. But Marius just looks hurt.

“What?” Grantaire snaps. “You thought I would just let it go? Thought maybe I’d just forget? We haven’t dealt with it, Marius, not properly, we never talked about it—“

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Marius says. “Just drop it.”

“I fucking won’t,” Grantaire says. He stands suddenly and begins to pace. “You think I’m going to drop it? Fuck. You’re too forgiving, you know, that’s always been your problem—“ Grantaire realizes he’s shoving his finger in Marius’s face, and he forces himself to back off, and to take a deep breath. “Shit.” Grantaire scrubs at his face.

“Meanwhile you hold grudges forever,” Marius counters, unfazed by Grantaire’s aggressive actions. “How is that healthy?”

Grantaire snorts. “At least I don’t let people walk all over me.”

“Grantaire, stop it,” Eponine snaps.

Marius ignores Eponine and stands as well, crowding Grantaire. “Jehan’s trying, okay? Courf is, too. They both feel bad, they’re trying to make it better, and it wasn’t rape, it’s not like—“

“Like what?” Grantaire scoffs. “What, so it wasn’t like the shit your clients put you through, so that makes it acceptable? What about the fact that you didn’t even want to have sex with them, huh, they didn’t even ask—“ He clenches his fists and breathes hard for a moment, trying to reign himself in. “Marius,” he says, his voice soft. “Just because they didn’t tie you down and beat you, does not mean it wasn’t rape.” His expression is sad. “I’m sorry for the shit you had to do with your clients. But just because Jehan and Courfeyrac treated you better, doesn’t make it okay. If you didn’t want it, it wasn’t okay. Please understand that.”

Marius turns away, and Eponine steps up from behind to separate the two. She keeps a hand on each of them, but focuses her gaze on Marius.

“It’s hard,” Marius says finally. “It’s so hard. I don’t know how to stop thinking like that, like I’m—like I’m still working. You know?” He turns to look at them again. “I went along with it because I didn’t even think about saying no. I hadn’t even considered saying no. All of a sudden it was like I was working again. I don’t—don’t know how to separate myself from it.” He swallows hard. Eponine slips her hand into his.

“And now,” Marius continues, “with Cosette—I don’t—I like her, I like her so much, and I want to have a proper relationship with her, but I don’t know if I can—“ He looks from Grantaire to Eponine, and back. “You know? I don’t know if I can be physical, if I can even be honest with her. I don’t know.”

Eponine shakes her head. “You need time,” she says. “We all do. It’s still too recent. What we need is distance.” She sighs. “It would help if Montparnasse weren’t still out there,” she admits, “but time will help.” She looks at Marius sternly. “But you do need to be honest, with yourself and with the two of us, at least, and when you’re—we’re—ready, with the others. Cosette, too, eventually.” She squeezes Marius’s hand. “We have each other. At the end of the day, we have each other, and we’ll help each other out.”

“Like always,” Grantaire adds, nudging Eponine affectionately. She nudges back.

“We’ll work through this shit, okay?” Eponine says, her eyes flickering from one to the other. “But I’m still too sober to keep talking about feelings, all right, so I propose we take a break and do a couple of shots, yeah?” She kisses Marius on the cheek. “And no more fighting for tonight,” she says, chastising them both. “We’re going to put some music back on, and we’re going to dance, and Grantaire is going to text something embarrassing to Enjolras, and we’re going to have a good time. Deal?”

Grantaire laughs. “Deal,” he declares, looking to Marius expectantly. After a moment, Marius smiles.

“Deal,” he says.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is going to start locking his door someday. Really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for mentions of abuse.

“I reserve the right to make fun of you for the next full year,” Courfeyrac says solemnly, by way of greeting, and Enjolras is annoyed enough to look up from his newspaper. Courfeyrac has barged into his kitchen unannounced, and while this isn’t all that unusual, it’s still a nuisance. Enjolras is going to start locking his door someday. Really.

“What?” he snaps, in no mood for Courfeyrac’s games. Turkey is demanding his attention, and Courfeyrac knows better than to interrupt when Enjolras is reading.

“You made fun of me when I first met Jehan,” Courfeyrac says, ignoring Enjolras’s glower and settling down beside him. Courfeyrac steals a sip of Enjolras’s coffee, for good measure.

“When you first met Jehan you kept walking around with flowers in your hair,” Enjolras counters. “I was as nice as could be expected, under the circumstances.”

“That’s fair,” Courfeyrac says. “But your entire neck is covered, and I’m going to make fun of you for it, because I’m me and you’re—well.” Courfeyrac gestures wildly. Enjolras slides his coffee out of harm’s way.

“My neck isn’t covered,” he says indignantly, rubbing at it self-consciously. “I—it’s just a couple of spots, hardly noticeable.” He trails off, blushing faintly, but Courfeyrac has a trained eye, and his grin only widens.

“Hardly noticeable, my ass,” Courfeyrac laughs. “A couple of spots, maybe, but they’re definitely noticeable. Like, deliberately noticeable.” Courfeyrac cocks his head. “D’you think Grantaire has a thing for marking. Ooh, of course he does. These are way too deliberate—ow!” Enjolras slaps Courfeyrac’s hand away from where it hovers near Enjolras’s collarbone. Courfeyrac laughs.

“We aren’t discussing this,” Enjolras grumbles. “You’d think you had never seen a hickey before.”

“Well,” Courfeyrac shrugs. “Not on you. Never thought you’d be the type, honestly.” Enjolras shoots him a look, and Courfeyrac hastens to explain himself. “Not judging, dude. Never judging. Just thought you might not be—you know. Inclined.” Enjolras rolls his eyes.

“I’m going to ignore you now,” he says. “Unless you’ve got anything to say that’s more important than, y’know, the world going to shit—“

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” Courfeyrac steals another sip of coffee. “The world’s always been shit. It’s nothing new.” He claps Enjolras on the back cheerily.

Enjolras is spared having to respond—and Courfeyrac is saved from losing a limb—when Eponine appears in the kitchen, barefoot, in an oversized shirt and what appear to be boxers. She greets the boys with a small smile and goes straight for the coffee pot, because apparently she doesn’t get enough of it at work. She joins them at the table, taking the seat beside Enjolras, and he goes back to reading his newspaper.

“Y’know, I can’t say I’m surprised you still read those,” Eponine says, “so much as I’m surprised newspapers still exist.” Courfeyrac chokes back a laugh, and Enjolras sighs, like he’s heard it all before. Undoubtedly he has. “It’s more efficient to get the news online,” Eponine continues. “More concise, even. Leaves you more time to organize, I dunno, pride parades or whatever.”

Enjolras looks offended. Courfeyrac just laughs harder. “I don’t do pride parades,” Enjolras says after a beat. “I don’t do parades, period.”

Eponine shrugs. “They can be fun. Not everything has to be a clash with the police y’know.”

“Enjolras isn’t having fun unless he’s lecturing a crowd or getting arrested,” Courfeyrac says. “Try all you want, but he’ll grumble through the entire thing and complain about what a waste it is, blah blah blah.” Courfeyrac shrugs, and then brightens. “Although, there was that one time—“ and Enjolras groans and hides his face in his hands.

Eponine looks between them curiously. “That one time what?” she asks.

“The time he got drunk before Pride,” Courfeyrac says, laughing conspiratorially and studiously ignoring Enjolras’s near-permanent glare. “Jumped on a float with some nearly-naked firemen. Best day of my life.”

Eponine gasps. “Nearly-naked?”

“Well. They had the helmets,” Courfeyrac explains, and Eponine breaks down laughing.

Enjolras groans, mutters something about killing under his breath. It takes some time before Courfeyrac and Eponine settle down, and he tries to ignore them while he waits. By the time Eponine’s laughter has died down, his lips are pressed together in a thin line, and he tenses when Eponine lays her head on his shoulder.

Courfeyrac raises an eyebrow at the pair before stage-whispering, “Uh—Enj doesn’t do the whole—the touching thing. Hugging and that.” He widens his eyes significantly but otherwise stays deliberately still, like he’s afraid Enjolras is going to attack at any moment.

“Yes he does,” Eponine says, looking torn between confusion and amusement. “Enjolras gives great hugs, actually. If you don’t know that, you’re missing out.”

Courfeyrac leans back in his chair, shocked. “What? Wait—what?” He looks back and forth between the two. “You—“ He points a finger at Enjolras accusingly. “You said you didn’t like to be touched!”

Enjolras smirks. “You were pissing me off that day. Got you to back off, didn’t it?” He relaxes a bit, allowing Eponine to rest her head more comfortably against his shoulder. “Anyway, Eponine’s kind of an exception.”

“Aww, I knew you liked me,” Eponine teases.

“Wow.” Courfeyrac shakes his head, but he’s grinning. “I never thought I’d see Enjolras getting all—cuddly. Fucking cuddly.” He laughs. “I shoulda fucking known, should’ve guessed you were a secret teddy bear.”

“Fuck off,” Enjolras snaps, and Eponine says thoughtfully, “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. He’s great at hugging but he’s still super grumpy like ninety percent of the time.” And Enjolras just says, “fuck off,” again, though with a little less bite.

“What’s it like, anyway?” Courfeyrac asks. “Living with him, what’s that like?”

Eponine sits up and shrugs. “Like you’d expect. I dunno. Definitely quieter than Marius, but I guess you know what that’s like.” She laughs. “Yeah, I mean, it’s not like there’s some secret side to him that you’ve never seen. He’s still Enjolras when he’s at home.”

Courfeyrac huffs. “Well, that’s boring,” he mutters grumpily.

“I don’t know what you expected,” Enjolras says.

“You’re right,” Courfeyrac concedes. “You’re like an old man. You have old man habits, dude.” He considers that for a moment. “Well, except for the whole liking dudes thing. So I guess you aren’t that boring.”

Enjolras snorts. “Thanks,” he mutters. “I’m glad all my activism has made such an impact on you.”

Courfeyrac waves a hand dismissively. “So you’ve been arrested a few times; I still say you have old man habits.”

“This conversation is really devolving,” Eponine observes. “And I should get dressed, anyway.” She stands, finishes off her coffee, and goes to wash the mug out in the sink.

Courfeyrac checks the time on his phone. “Yeah, I guess I’ll head out. Gonna go meet Jehan.” He nudges Enjolras as he stands. “Coming to the café later?”

“Grantaire’s working,” Eponine tells Courfeyrac, “so yeah, he’ll be there.”

Enjolras shakes his head and gives her a half-hearted glare, but she ignores it in favor of kissing him on the cheek before disappearing back into her room. Courfeyrac watches her go with wide eyes, and then, daringly, presses a quick kiss to his cheek as well and darts out of the way before Enjolras can slap him.

“I hate you,” Enjolras says.

“Love you, too,” Courfeyrac calls over his shoulder as he rushes out. “See you later, stud.”

And when the door slams shut and Enjolras is finally left alone, he cracks a small smile.

[To R: if i bring c will u b nice]  
[To Puppy: to her or to you? because it depends]  
[To R: i meant 2 me!! wat do u mean depends???]  
[To Puppy: i mean i’m not going to pass on an opportunity to embarrass you]  
[To Puppy: but if she sucks i’m not going to pretend to like her, you know me]  
[To R: y cant u b nice to both of us!!! i’m nice 2 enj!!]  
[To Puppy: are you kidding me? you threatened to kill him]  
[To R: only if he hurt u i was v reasonable]  
[To Puppy: HE LOOKED GENUINELY WORRIED]  
[To R: yeah that was p funny]

Grantaire just rolls his eyes when Marius practically skips into the café. “You’re a child,” he says.

“Yes but I’m cute,” Marius says, grinning as he leans up against the counter, “and you love me.”

“I like you sometimes,” Grantaire retorts.

“Hi, Chetta,” Marius chirps as Musichetta exits the backroom, fresh cups in hand.

“Hey, Marius.” Musichetta hands the cups to Grantaire, who stacks them on the counter. “What’re the boys up to today? I haven’t heard from Joly or Bossuet.”

Marius shrugs. “Dunno. Enjolras hasn’t organized anything since the rally, and I think Combeferre wants him to take a break, anyway.” Marius reaches out to steal a coffee cup, and Grantaire slaps his hand away. “Enjolras should be coming by, though,” he adds, shooting Grantaire a quick glare.

“He told you that?” Grantaire asks, surprised.

“Doubt he had to,” Musichetta laughs. “You’re working, aren’t you?” Grantaire looks at her blankly. “He’s coming to see you, of course.”

“Oh.” Grantaire flushes. “I don’t think—I’m sure he’s got other things to do. They all have school, they can’t be hanging here all the time—“

Musichetta snorts. “I guarantee he’ll be here before your shift is over. When I first met Joly and Bossuet, I couldn’t get rid of them for two weeks. They were here every day without fail.” 

Marius turns to smirk at Grantaire, who studiously ignores him. He’s saved by a couple that walks in, and Marius moves away from the counter so that Grantaire can deal with the customers.

Marius takes a seat at the table in the corner, choosing—deliberately?—the seat that Enjolras usually occupies. Grantaire suspects Marius is doing everything he can to annoy him, and so he goes about work as though Marius isn’t there.

It’s fine, for a while; it’s the time of day where the café gets a slow but steady stream of customers, and it requires minimal effort on Grantaire’s part while still keeping him busy. It’s his favorite time of day, aside from the Amis meetings, though Grantaire might never admit to that.

Jehan comes in during this period, and Grantaire offers a rather curt nod in greeting before turning to fix a drink. He fiddles with it a bit longer than necessary, but it buys him a few moments. When he turns around again, Jehan’s sitting beside Marius, and the two are chatting amicably.

Musichetta leaves around this time, and Grantaire takes over, tending to the few customers in line. Only one of them takes a seat at a table; the others all hurry out the moment they’ve got their caffeine fix.

There’s a momentary lull, and Grantaire uses the opportunity to pour himself a cup of coffee. Jehan and Marius are still chatting, and have been practically non-stop. It would be concerning if he didn’t know Marius so well. Grantaire tunes them out—years of dealing with both Marius and Eponine has certainly helped—and he goes about needlessly organizing everything behind the counter.

Grantaire doesn’t look up when he hears the door opening, another customer coming in. He’s almost got everything refilled and restocked, and he’s just finishing up, so he’s only half-paying attention. It takes a few seconds for him to register the sound of a chair clattering to the floor, and when he finally looks up he sees Marius standing, pale and wide-eyed, backing away from Montparnasse.

“Fuck—“ Grantaire topples a carton of milk in his rush to get around the counter, and it goes flying, spilling everywhere; he barely notices. Jehan stands hurriedly, sensing trouble though not understanding it, and puts himself in front of Marius.

Grantaire goes straight for Montparnasse, crowds him. “Get out,” he says, but his voice is shaking slightly and Montparnasse just smirks.

“Came here to look for Eponine,” Montparnasse says lazily. “Should’ve known you two would be here as well.”

Grantaire feels as though the room is spinning. “How—how’d you know—“

Montparnasse grabs him and grips his arms tightly, so hard there’ll be bruises. “You really thought I wouldn’t find you? My three best workers, you thought I’d let you go that easy?” He laughs, and Grantaire feels cold. “Got a tip that Eponine worked here. It’s just my luck that I’d find you two as well. See that was your big mistake, wasn’t it? You would’ve been safer away from each other, but of course, sentimentality and all, leave no man behind.” He smiles, smug and pleased and sinister all at once. His grip on Grantaire’s arms tighten for a moment longer before he finally releases his hold, and steps around Grantaire toward Marius.

Grantaire remains still, breathing heavily, momentarily shell-shocked. It takes him a few deep breaths before he regains a little composure, and he’s able to turn around. Jehan is still standing between Marius and Montparnasse, looking uncertain. Montparnasse ignores him, watching Marius as he approaches with a wolfish, predatory grin.

“Hello, sweet thing,” Montparnasse says, voice low and soothing. “Did you miss me, darling?”

“Don’t,” Marius whispers, and Grantaire wants to move between them, but he can’t, he finds himself rooted, frozen, and he wants to scream but he can’t do that either.

Montparnasse reaches around Jehan and grabs Marius’s hand, tugging him forward slightly. He reaches up with his other hand and traces Marius’s collarbone, almost lovingly. Grantaire knows it’s a threat: “come too close and I’ll snap him,” Montparnasse is saying, and even Jehan seems to understand, at least a little, because he looks momentarily terrified.

Grantaire realizes then that he’s never seen Jehan look so wrecked.

“You two,” Montparnasse says, addressing them both while keeping his gaze on Marius, “are going to come back. You’re going to get Eponine, and come back. And you’re not going to try anything so foolish ever again.” He drums two fingers against Marius’s collarbone; Marius shuts his eyes. “Understood?”

Grantaire finds his voice, though it is still shaky. “You don’t own us any more.” His words are far braver than he feels. He just wants to run. “We’re done working for you, Montparnasse. We’re out.”

Montparnasse moves his hand from Marius’s collarbone to his neck, squeezing tightly, and Marius lets out a soft choking sound just as the front door opens. Grantaire curses loudly and turns to see Enjolras frozen in the doorway.

“What—“ Enjolras starts, stunned, and Montparnasse turns, loosening his grip on Marius just a little, and Jehan seizes the opportunity.

It feels as though he just blinks, but the next thing Grantaire knows, he’s on the ground with Enjolras hovering over him worriedly. The café is far more crowded than it was a second ago, and Grantaire thinks maybe he passed out for a while.

“Did I fucking faint?” he mumbles, reaching out. Enjolras takes his hand and helps him to sit up.

“Yeah,” he says, still looking worried. “For a few minutes. I called the cops; they’ve just arrived.” He gestures over to where the police are handcuffing a dazed-looking Montparnasse.

“What the fuck happened?” Grantaire asks, looking around in confusion. There are too many police officers around and he can’t seem to put everything back together.

“Well.” Enjolras strokes Grantaire’s hair back gently, a gesture he’ll undoubtedly deny later. “Jehan beat the shit out of Montparnasse, you passed out, and I called the cops.”

Grantaire straightens and looks around frantically. “Marius?” he asks. Enjolras points to where Marius is talking to a police officer, flanked by Jehan and Courfeyrac.

“I called Eponine,” Enjolras explains. “She sent Courfeyrac because he was already nearby, but she’s on her way. Marius is okay; his neck is probably bruised, but otherwise he’s okay.”

Grantaire nods and then stands with help from Enjolras. “I can’t believe I fucking fainted,” he mutters. “Fuck me.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Enjolras tells him seriously. “It was a lot to take in at once. You didn’t expect to see him again, he was threatening Marius—it was too much. It’s okay.”

Grantaire shakes his head. “I’ve never been—never been scared of him like that before. Whenever he used to get violent, I never—I could always take it. I was never scared of him. Fucking pathetic.” He mumbles this last bit to himself, but Enjolras frowns.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras waits for him to meet his gaze. “You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he repeats firmly, and Grantaire feels his breath catch in his throat. “Then or now. Okay? It’s okay for you to react differently now, you’re in a different place, emotionally, and it makes sense for you to feel differently.” He hesitates before cupping Grantaire’s face in his hand. “You’ve been through enough,” Enjolras says softly. “And I’m proud of you for making it this far.”

Grantaire meets Enjolras’s gaze firmly, because Enjolras is looking at him like he’s never done before, and Grantaire wants to remember the sincerity, the openness in Enjolras’s expression.

The moment is broken when a pair of officers approach and ask to question the two separately. Enjolras gives Grantaire’s shoulder a little squeeze as he goes off with one of the officers. The other asks strangely specific questions about Grantaire, about his relationship with Montparnasse, about his job at the café. He wonders how much the police know about Montparnasse. As the officer wraps up, Eponine rushes into the café and immediately launches herself into Grantaire’s arms. He holds her tightly, and the police officer politely looks away, busying himself with his notes.

Eponine draws back after a while, breathless and shaky but looking otherwise composed. “He’s been arrested?” she asks, and Grantaire nods.

“We’ve charged him with assault,” the police officer cuts in. “But we’re investigating a—bigger case. Did you know him?” Eponine hesitates, and then nods slowly. “If I could ask you a few questions—“

Grantaire steps away to allow Eponine the illusion of privacy, and makes his way over to Marius. He’s still talking to a couple of policemen, and Jehan is holding his hand; when Marius sees Grantaire approaching he shrinks back slightly, and Grantaire feels a bit like the wind’s been knocked out of him.

“Sorry—“ Marius closes his eyes briefly, straightens, and shakes his head. He lets go of Jehan’s hand and takes a step forward. “Sorry. Taire—are you okay?”

Grantaire can see the bruises forming on Marius’s neck already, and it takes all his strength to keep his distance. “Fucking passed out. I guess you saw.” Marius smiles gently. “I’m fine, though. Are you—?“

Marius nods, then glances at the policemen standing beside him before looking back at Grantaire. “I told them everything,” he says softly. “I need this to be over, R. I’ve told them everything.”

“It’s okay.” Grantaire takes a hesitant step forward, and Marius does the rest, rushing forward and throwing his arms around him. “It’s okay,” Grantaire says again.

The policemen wait for the two to break apart before addressing them both. “This is an ongoing investigation,” one of the officers says, “so we’ll probably be in touch for some follow-up questions. We’ll need your contact information.”

Marius rattles off his phone number and home address. “I gave my info to the officer over there,” Grantaire tells them, gesturing to the policeman talking with Eponine. The officers nod and leave them to join another cop.

“I called Musichetta,” Jehan says once the policemen are gone. “She’s on her way; she’s going to close the café for today.” He takes in Grantaire’s appearance. “How are you feeling?”

Grantaire sighs. “I don’t know. Strange. I want this to be over, but—“ He stops.

“You don’t want to get your hopes up,” Jehan says knowingly. “It’s understandable. But he’s been arrested, the police have him, he won’t come after you again—try not to worry. I know it must feel impossible, but it’s out of your hands. Try not to worry.”

“They knew who he was,” Marius says softly. “The police. They recognized him when they arrived. They—one of them told me they’ve been trying to track him down for a while. I don’t think they’ll let him go too easily.”

“I can’t believe this,” Grantaire says. “I still can’t believe this. It happened so fast—“ Marius takes his hand.

“It’ll be okay,” Jehan tells them. “You’ll be okay.”

“We should go home,” Marius says. “I think—we should go. I think we need some time. Where’s Ep?”

“Over there, with Enjolras,” Courfeyrac says. “Do you need me to drive you?”

“I can’t leave,” Grantaire cuts in. “I can’t leave the café, I need to wait for Chetta, I—“ He realizes he’s beginning to panic, breathing erratically, and he takes a couple of deep breaths to calm himself. “Sorry. Sorry. Um. I can’t just leave, though, I should wait for her.”

“I’ll wait,” Jehan offers. “Chetta will understand. I’ll keep an eye on everything.”

Grantaire feels suddenly tired. “Thank you,” he says sincerely. He turns to see Enjolras and Eponine approaching. “Hi,” he says. Enjolras wraps an arm around his waist, and he leans in to the touch.

“Hi,” Enjolras says softly. “I was going to take Eponine home,” he tells them. “Do you want to come? Marius?”

Grantaire nods gratefully. Marius glances at Courfeyrac, who gives him an encouraging smile. “Yeah, I’ll come,” Marius says.

He grips Jehan’s hand briefly and touches Courfeyrac’s shoulder as he turns to follow Eponine out, with Enjolras and Grantaire in tow and holding hands. Before they can reach the door, it swings open. Marius freezes, and Enjolras doesn’t stop in time to keep from bumping into him, but Marius doesn’t seem to notice. He looks nearly as terrified as he‘d been when Montparnasse had walked in.

“Cosette,” he squeaks out, and Eponine gasps, and Grantaire just mutters, “fuck.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire wakes up in a bed that is most definitely not his own.

“This is insane,” Eponine says, not for the first time, as she paces around the living room. Grantaire watches with a hint of amusement, sitting beside Enjolras on the couch. Their hands are loosely entwined on Enjolras’s knee, and every so often Grantaire will catch Enjolras looking down at their joined hands with a smile.

“It’s a lot to process,” Combeferre says evenly. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching Eponine with a hint of worry.

“I just can’t fuckin’ believe it,” Eponine mutters. “This is insane.”

“Will you sit down?” Grantaire demands, speaking up for the first time since arriving at her and Enjolras’s apartment. “You’re starting to make me dizzy.” Eponine huffs at him but complies, taking a seat beside Enjolras. “Now, breathe,” Grantaire instructs, and Eponine makes a dramatic show of drawing a deep breath.

“Excuse me for worrying,” Eponine says while managing to refrain from rolling her eyes. “It’s overwhelming, okay, it all happened so fast, and—fuck, the fact that it happened at all—“

“I know,” Grantaire says, “but it did happen. It’s done, E.” His tone is gentle.

“For now,” Eponine mutters, and Enjolras puts an arm around her.

“So what happens next?” he asks, looking between her and Grantaire.

“Well.” Grantaire sighs. “They arrested him on assault, but they know everything, I mean, they know exactly what they’ve got there, but they can’t put him away for all that shit unless we testify.”

“They need at least one of us,” Eponine adds, “but it’ll be a stronger case if we all speak up.”

“I told you—“ Grantaire starts, but Eponine shoots him a glare from around Enjolras, and he falls silent.

“I want him gone, and I want this over,” she says firmly. “If that means sharing all the shit that went down, all the details—then, fine, I’ll do it. Gladly.”

“That’s pretty brave,” Combeferre says softly, and she turns to face him, momentarily having forgotten his presence. “Really. I don’t know many people who’d be brave enough to speak out. You’re doing a great thing.”

“He’s right.” Enjolras keeps his arm around Eponine, squeezes Grantaire’s hand. “You’ve both been through a lot, and you just keep pushing through it. That takes some strength.” Eponine kisses him on the cheek; Grantaire tries to ignore the swooping sensation in his chest.

Eponine stands, breaking the moment, and goes to the kitchen. “Anyone want anything?” she calls over her shoulder, and receives a charming chorus of “no, thank you.”

“Any word from Marius?” Combeferre asks, and Grantaire finally tears his gaze away from Enjolras.

“Nope,” he replies, doing his best not to appear concerned. “They must still be talking, he would’ve called one of us otherwise.”

“Do you think it’ll be okay with them?” Combeferre wonders. “Cosette was a little… posh looking. I was surprised she didn’t immediately run away.”

“Yeah,” Eponine agrees, calling out from the kitchen, “but Marius hasn’t called either of us yet, which means they’re still talking, which means there’s a chance. And don’t judge a book by its cover! I thought you lot were all about that.” Combeferre laughs.

“You’re right,” he amends. “Sorry.” He checks his phone, thumbs through a text for a moment. “Courfeyrac hasn’t heard from Marius either,” he reports. “So can we assume things are all right with Cosette?”

“It’s a tough sell,” Grantaire says. “Finding out your boyfriend is a former prostitute can’t be easy.” He very carefully does not look toward Enjolras.

“Hey.” Enjolras waits until Grantaire is looking his way. “Stop it,” he says quietly, and Combeferre is kind enough to pretend to be busy texting. “I want to be with you,” Enjolras continues, “and I will never judge you. All right? Stop doubting yourself.”

Grantaire looks down at his lap and laughs a little bitterly. “Sorry. It’s hard not to. Fuckin’ daily reminders of this shit…”

Enjolras bumps their shoulders together. “It’ll get easier.” Grantaire steals a quick kiss; Combeferre coughs, and Eponine reappears from the kitchen, holding a mug of tea.

“Gross,” she says, laughing lightly as she shoves her way in between the couple. “Hands to yourselves, kids.”

[To Puppy: starting to get worried over here. how’s it going?]  
[To R: call l8r]

[To Grantaire: sounds like you need a drink my friend]  
[To Bahorel: so many]

“Are you drunk already?” Courfeyrac is smirking when he slides into the booth beside Bahorel and across from Grantaire. “For shame, children.” His false reprimand is hindered by the pint he clutches tightly.

Bahorel laughs and shoves him a bit more forcefully than intended, demonstrating that he is, indeed, rather drunk already. “What are you doing here, don’t you have some poetry to read?”

“You’re confusing us,” Courfeyrac says good-naturedly. “Common mistake.” He takes a long gulp of beer. “Anyway, had to get out of the house, y’know. Going crazy just sitting there, waiting for Marius to show.”

“Still nothing?” Grantaire would sound concerned, but he’s also rather drunk and ends up shouting the question. Courfeyrac shakes his head.

“I texted him a few times,” he says, “and called once. But he doesn’t seem the type to go cry alone in the rain, does he? He’d come straight home if it went wrong, so must mean everything’s okay. Right?”

Grantaire nods. Bahorel cocks his head. “It’s not even raining,” he slurs, and Grantaire laughs.

“That’s not the—ah, never mind.” Courfeyrac waves him off with a laugh. “So where is everyone, huh?”

“I think Eponine and Combeferre are having, you know—“ Grantaire lowers his voice dramatically. “Alone time.” He gives Courfeyrac a serious look.

“Feuilly’s stopping by later with Enjolras,” Bahorel says, “but everyone else seems to be doing their own thing tonight. Where’s Jehan, anyway?”

Courfeyrac squirms and takes a long drink of beer, looking uncomfortable. “Uh. He wanted to stay in tonight.” His gaze flits to Grantaire, briefly, before he plasters on a grin. “I think he’s got some new books of poetry, y’know I can’t tear him away when he’s like that.” Bahorel laughs, nodding.

“So true,” he says, and the subject is dropped.

When Feuilly and Enjolras finally arrive, Bahorel is slumped over the table, Grantaire is texting someone while cursing loudly at his phone, and Courfeyrac is giggling. High-pitched giggling. Enjolras looks offended.

“Hey, buddy,” Feuilly says, torn between concern and amusement as he pats the top of Bahorel’s head awkwardly. “Still alive?” Bahorel lets out a low moan, and Feuilly grins. “Good enough.”

“You motherfucker, you stupid—fuck you, fucking piece of—bitch-faced—“ Grantaire hasn’t noticed the newcomers, his full attention on his phone. “Fuck!”

“Hi,” Enjolras interjects, and Grantaire’s head whips up so quickly he winces. Enjolras smirks. “Did you two get into a fight?” He asks, nodding at the phone.

Grantaire blinks, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Hi,” he says, and Courfeyrac starts giggling again. “Hi,” he repeats before leaning out of the booth to throw his arms around Enjolras, who lets out a little “oof” but returns the hug all the same.

“Having a good night, then?” he asks, laughing.

“The best,” Grantaire replies firmly. “I’m having the best night. Oh! But you’re here, too, so it’s better. Better night. The better best night.”

“Right.” Enjolras glances sideways at Feuilly, who manages to control his laughter.

“I’ll get us some drinks,” Feuilly says before disappearing. Grantaire still hasn’t let go of Enjolras, and Courfeyrac continues to giggle at nothing in particular.

“Um,” Enjolras says, but he’s saved by Grantaire’s phone, which buzzes insistently. Grantaire finally releases him to answer, reading the text before grinning and replying rapidly.

“Who’re you drunk texting?” Enjolras asks, peering over Grantaire’s shoulder.

“Eponine,” Grantaire tells him. “She’s great. Eponine’s great. She doesn’t even get mad when I interrupt her date or crash on her couch or even that time I puked on her floor—she doesn’t get mad, she’s so cool, y’know?”

Enjolras takes the opportunity to read the text just as Grantaire hits send. He makes out “olk but ofe h ries aNYThinf yijk hav r gto tellmrd ok>>>>” and decides not to bother decoding.

Feuilly returns with beers for himself and for Enjolras, and the two manage to both squeeze in beside Courfeyrac.

[To R, Eponine: back home, evrythns gr8, tlk 2morrow]

[To Jehan: r u busy]  
[To Marius: not really, what’s going on?]  
[To Jehan: can u come ovr]

Grantaire wakes up in a bed that is most definitely not his own. There is movement on the other side of the door, a few different voices, and the faint smell of coffee. His stomach makes itself known then—undecided, apparently, between hungry and nauseous—and his headache begins to pound.

“Fuck,” he mutters, attempting to sit up. The most he manages is to roll over onto his stomach, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed. His hand meets soft fabric, and he looks down to see a small pile of his clothes on the floor. “Aw, fuck,” he says again, though he checks and, yes, is wearing underwear. “So there’s that.”

Without lifting his head from the bed, Grantaire fumbles around in his clothes, managing to grab his pants and, after a clumsy search, dig his phone out of a pocket. He has to squint to read the screen, but when it comes into focus he sees an alarming number of unread text messages.

“Kill me,” Grantaire moans, rolling slowly onto his back and throwing an arm over his eyes, blocking the light.

Grantaire dozes off a couple of times but eventually, painstakingly, gets himself out of bed a half hour later. He doesn’t bother putting on any clothes, just stumbles out of the mystery bedroom in his underwear, phone held loosely in one hand. He thinks hunger is winning over nausea, and he sends up a silent prayer of thanks when he recognizes the living room.

“Good morning!” Eponine chirps as he enters the kitchen and plops down at the table. “Don’t you look sunny today.”

“Fuck off,” he mutters; she ignores this and instead hands him a mug of coffee. “Mm. Thanks. You’re great.” He takes a long drink, ignoring the burn of his tongue.

“I’m making pancakes, you ungrateful child,” Eponine says, still cheery. “I assume you want chocolate chips?”

“Some would say you know me better than I know myself,” Grantaire quips; Eponine turns to the stovetop, and Grantaire turns his attention to Enjolras and Combeferre, who are both sitting opposite him.

“Good morning,” Enjolras says, eyes twinkling. “Aspirin?”

“Bloody Mary,” Grantaire counters, and Combeferre snorts. Enjolras stands and pours a glass of water, sets it down in front of Grantaire, and then sits again, rather pointedly. “Fine, fine,” Grantaire mutters, chugging the water in one go. “Fuck. Okay, good call,” he says, returning to his coffee. Enjolras dutifully refills the water glass, ignoring Grantaire’s protests.

Eponine hands Grantaire a plate of pancakes, and he spends several minutes professing his love for her before digging in. The nausea is mostly gone now, and while his headache has barely lessened, he feels much better. He eats half of a pancake before he can even think about doing anything else.

“So, uh, how bad was I?” Grantaire asks. Enjolras just smiles and says nothing, Combeferre watches stoically, and Eponine laughs before answering.

“You’ve had worse nights,” she tells him, and he breathes a sigh of relief. “You were in one of your clingy moods, is all. Hugged a bunch of strangers, according to Enjolras, um, professed undying love for Feuilly, blew up my phone with about a billion texts about how great I am, which, I know, but thanks anyway.”

“Feuilly drove Bahorel home, and you were very upset when they left,” Enjolras informs him. “Equated it with a break-up, said Bahorel didn’t love you anymore.” He looks torn between amused and horrified. “I had to… console you,” he says, a bit painfully, and Grantaire groans.

“Well, I’ve definitely done worse,” he admits, “but that’s pretty embarrassing. I’m sorry you had to deal with me.”

Enjolras shrugs. “You were fine when we got back here. Passed out almost immediately. I mean, you wanted to take all your clothes off first—I had to insist you keep the underwear on.” Combeferre laughs. “But then you were fine. Hogged all the covers and started snoring.”

“Sounds about right,” Eponine says.

Grantaire finishes off his pancakes and reaches for his phone, finally opening the unread messages. When he’s done with those, he goes through everything he’d sent the night before, grimacing at the spelling that got progressively worse and worse as the night went on. He doesn’t quite make it all the way through his sent folder, finding it too uncomfortable, and instead goes back to the newly opened text messages.

A few are from Courfeyrac, presumably after they’d parted way the night before. There’s one from Jehan, one from Bossuet, Joly, and Musichetta, two from Combeferre. Grantaire remembers the mass text he’d sent, something along the lines of “I love everyone in this bar!” and each reply is indulgent and amused.

The rest of the text messages—about ten of them—are from Marius. Grantaire reads through each one carefully before responding with a quick “good morning” text.

“So I guess Marius and Cosette are doin’ okay,” Grantaire reports after setting his phone aside.

“Yeah, he called me this morning, like right before you got up, actually.” Eponine tells him. “Said she spent the night, they worked shit out, et cetera.” She shrugs. “It’s great, I mean, it seems great. Maybe this means we’ll actually get to meet her.”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, about time. I have to hear about how wonderful she is on a daily basis, it’s only fair I get to meet her, y’know, see what’s so great.”

“Well,” Combeferre says thoughtfully. “She went to meet up with her boyfriend, expecting to be introduced to his friends, only to find the place swarming with cops, and was then told that her boyfriend is an ex-prostitute. She didn’t freak out or run away. That’s got to earn her some points, right?”

“For being a decent human being?” Grantaire scoffs. “Like, one point. So she’s not a terrible person, that doesn’t mean she’s—lovely or amazing or however else Marius has described her.”

“You’re being pretty harsh,” Eponine cuts in. “You haven’t even met her and you’ve already decided how you’re going to react to her. That’s not fair, and you know it.”

Grantaire shakes his head. “I’m being realistic,” he protests, but Eponine cuts him off.

“You’re being stupid. Marius likes her a lot, and she’s stayed, despite everything that just happened, despite being thrust into it so suddenly, she’s still with him. So whatever this is,” she says, gesturing at his general direction, “you’d better get over it. At the least, pretend to like her and just support Marius, okay? Like, the least you can do is not be an ass.”

“No promises,” Grantaire mutters. “Of course I support him, or whatever, but he makes dumbass decisions sometimes and he’s not always the best judge of character and—look, it’s just too much, okay? I can’t just pretend to be nice this time. I’m not trying to be a dick, I just—“

“Want to look out for him,” Enjolras finishes for him, and Grantaire nods.

“He won’t thank you for it,” Eponine says firmly; her tone suggests she’s done talking about it, and Grantaire drops the subject.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fully intended for this to be the last chapter, but it started getting long and, well. Unbelievably, there's more to come.
> 
> Can anyone translate Grantaire's drunk text?


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire buries his face in his hands. “I hate you.”

Grantaire agrees to meet up with Marius and Cosette in the café. It’s a neutral space, and he won’t feel too guilty if he gets annoyed and walks out.

“Very big of you,” Eponine says when he tells her the plan. “I’ll be there, I’m working anyway.”

“Need any—“ Enjolras searches for the right words, “moral support?” Grantaire kisses him, because he can. Enjolras still looks mildly flustered whenever Grantaire kisses him around others, and Grantaire enjoys it way more than he should.

“Moral support would be much appreciated,” Grantaire says seriously, and then he kisses Enjolras again, and it lasts long enough that Eponine turns away with an audible noise of disgust.

Grantaire shows up late, which is standard, and Marius arrives even later, which is not unusual. He’s alone, and Grantaire breathes a sigh of relief in spite of himself.

“Cosette around?” Grantaire asks when Marius slides into the seat across from him.

“She’s coming,” Marius says, looking flushed, as though he’d sprinted the entire way there. “She wanted to run home and change first, you know, she fell asleep at my place—“ Grantaire nods, because he does know, and then winks, because he will never pass up an opportunity to tease Marius.

“Moving quickly, aren’t you?” he asks, feigning a casual air. Marius rolls his eyes.

“I know for a fact that you slept in Enjolras’s bed last night,” Marius says, and Grantaire splutters and looks around to Eponine. She returns his gaze pointedly from behind the counter.

“That was— completely innocent,” Grantaire tries, and Marius laughs.

“You know I don’t care, right?” he says, grinning. “You can, like, have sex on the first date, you know I won’t judge you. I mean, you have had sex on the first date—“

“Okay, okay,” Grantaire stops him. “I get it. Great. But for the record, that’s not what’s happening here. I was very drunk last night—“ (“Oh, believe me, I know,” Marius laughs,) “—and I crashed at Enjolras’s place and that’s it, honestly, so don’t even try that. We’re—taking things slow. Or whatever.”

“Oh my god,” Marius says, eyes widening, and Grantaire groans instinctively. “You love him. You fucking love him, oh my god—“

“Don’t— ugh.” Grantaire buries his face in his hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Eponine says from behind the counter, “and yes, he does,” she says to Marius. He turns his wide eyes on her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, still stunned. Eponine shrugs.

“Didn’t know for sure,” she says carefully, “until he woke up in Enjolras’s bed this morning. That cinched it.”

Marius beams at Grantaire. “That’s amazing, R, I’m so fucking happy for you—“ He reaches out and grabs Grantaire’s hands away from his face, squeezes them in his own. Grantaire lets him, for a moment, before wrenching his hands away and waving a hand in annoyance.

“Okay, now that we’ve established that,” he coughs, embarrassed, “can we move on? What happened with Cosette?”

Marius nods. “Right, Cosette. Well. We just talked for a long time, and she was great, she’s so great, you know, she was very understanding, and—well, I should let her tell you. But we had a really good talk. And then she fell asleep on my bed, and it was late, you know, so I thought it’d be best to let her sleep? But I didn’t—I mean, I slept on the couch, you know, I gave her space and everything.”

Eponine smiles fondly. “Good boy,” she says, sounding pleased, and Marius blows her a kiss.

“And then Jehan came over,” Marius continues, “and we talked for a while, and that helped, too.”

“Wait,” Grantaire interrupts. “Why Jehan? You know you could have called one of us.”

Marius shrugs. “Yes,” he says carefully, “but you had been drunk texting me all night, and I knew Ep was off with Combeferre, and—well, Jehan’s good at these things, frankly, you know, talking about feelings and that. It’s different, talking with him.” He looks from Grantaire to Eponine and back. “You two are family and I love you and you’ll always be the most important people in my life,“ he sighs, “but you’re both terrible at dealing with feelings. Sometimes I need to talk without any alcohol involved, you know?”

Grantaire rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Fair enough.”

“And,” Eponine prompts.

“And… we love you, too. Mostly.”

“Asshole,” Marius says. He checks his phone, types something quickly.

“Cosette?” Grantaire asks. Marius shakes his head, doesn’t look up from his phone.

“Courf,” he says distractedly.

They settle into silence for a while as Marius and Courfeyrac text back and forth, Grantaire sips at his coffee, and Eponine moves about behind the counter. It’s a comfortable silence, broken only by a few customers who come in. Each time the door swings open, Marius looks up eagerly, and deflates a bit every time it isn’t Cosette. The fourth time the door opens, however, Marius stands, and Grantaire spots the tiny blonde approaching their table, smiling widely.

She presses a kiss to Marius’s cheek and offers Grantaire a friendly wave before taking a seat at the table. “I’m sorry I took so long,” she says breathily, and Grantaire falls in love with her, just a little. “I practically ran the entire way here—“

“Don’t worry about it,” Grantaire says, smiling in a strange, fixed way. He shakes his head, waves a hand dismissively. “Um. It’s nice to meet you?”

Marius gives him a concerned look. Cosette laughs. “It’s so nice to finally meet you as well,” she exclaims. “Marius talks about you and Eponine, like, non-stop.”

“He never shuts up about you either,” Grantaire says, glancing at Marius. Most people might look embarrassed, might even blush a bit, but Marius just grins widely and nods in agreement. Cosette giggles. She looks at Marius fondly, and Grantaire knows suddenly that they’ll last.

The trio chats amicably for a while, and whenever she isn’t busy, Eponine joins the conversation. It’s mostly light and entirely pleasant, and after some time Grantaire begins to feel truly comfortable with Cosette. He loses track of time after a while, but he’s brought back to reality when Jehan calls Marius, and Marius steps outside to answer. Grantaire takes the opportunity. He lowers his voice and leans across the table a bit.

“Listen,” he says seriously, and Cosette’s ever-present smile falters a bit. “You two seem to have a good, genuine thing going, and I love how happy he’s been since meeting you—like, cartoonishly happy, it’s seriously ridiculous—but. I just.” He sighs, reorganizes his thoughts, and starts again. “Obviously you know that he—we were prostitutes. And that’s heavy, and it’s recent, and he says you’re okay with everything that’s happened, but, let’s be real, how many people are actually going to be okay with this?”

“I don’t know what you think I’m going to do,” Cosette says carefully, “but I don’t exactly plan on going anywhere. We do have something genuine, Marius and I, and I don’t intend to end things or do anything to ruin what we have. Okay?” She waits a moment, allowing her words to sink in. “We’ve all got parts of us that—that might not seem so great to some. I won’t sit here and tell you that his past doesn’t matter, that I don’t care about that stuff—because it’s a part of him, so I do care. But I can recognize that his family doesn’t define him, that prostitution is just a chapter.”

“Fuck,” Grantaire breathes. “He—told you about his family?” Cosette shakes her head.

“Bare bones,” she says. “He told me enough to understand.” She smiles, a little sadly. “And I’ll tell you a bit of my family, Grantaire. Enough for you to understand.” Grantaire feels as though he can’t move, or breathe. “I grew up in foster care. I was moved from family to family until my father adopted me. He’s not—he isn’t my biological father, but he knew my mother. She was a prostitute,” Cosette says bluntly, unblinking. “She’s dead, and I never knew her, but I knew enough.”

“Fuck,” Grantaire whispers, unable to stop himself.

“But it’s a part of me, you see? I know enough to understand. I love my mother, Grantaire. And I love Marius.” She smiles and says again, “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

Grantaire releases a long breath. He can’t tear his eyes away from her. “That was quite a speech,” he says after a long moment. “Um.” Cosette laughs easily.

“You don’t need to say anything,” she says. “That’s the beautiful thing, isn’t it? I know that you understand, and maybe now you see that I do, too, a little. And we don’t need to say anything.”

Grantaire finds himself grinning. “Yeah. All right, then.”

“So,” Cosette says loudly, and Grantaire spots Marius returning. “Tell me all of your embarrassing Marius stories. I want to know everything.”

Grantaire goes along with it. “Every Marius story is an embarrassing Marius story. How much time do you have?”

Marius rolls his eyes as he retakes his seat at the table, but he doesn’t say anything. He settles back into the chair and listens with a content smile as Grantaire starts on a story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick thank you to everyone who bookmarked, everyone who left kudos, and everyone who just fuckin read this thing. I didn't expect such an overwhelmingly positive response, and I really appreciate it.
> 
> A massive thank you to everyone who commented; I honestly flailed like an idiot at every kind word, and I can't express how much I appreciate the warm feedback.
> 
> I did try to put appropriate triggers on each chapter, but if I missed anything please let me know, and I'll go back and add as needed.
> 
> This fic is finished, but the story isn't. There are a few storylines that I ended up not including here. I have to step away from this for a while, but somewhere down the road I'll turn this into a series.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! xo


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